IKE  TURTLE   AND   AUNT   GRAVES. 
"  Marry  ?    Me  marry  —  marry  a  man  —  a  great,  awful  man  !  "  —  Page  160. 


THE 


PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS; 


OR, 


HUMORS  OF  THE  WEST. 


BY  arH^IOLEY.   \«\vtf* 


- 


WITH  ORIGINAL  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


BOSTON : 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS. 

NEW   YORK: 
LEE,  SHEPARD  AND  DILLINGHAM. 

1875- 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874, 

BY  LEE  AND  SHEPAKD, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stereotyped  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
No.  19  Spring  Lane. 


Bancroft  Library 


PREFACE. 


EVERYBODY  who  writes  a  book,  is  expected  to  introduce 
it  with  a  preface  ;  to  hang-  out  a  sign,  the  more  cap- 
tivating the  better,  informing  the  public  what  kind  of 
entertainment  may  be  %xpected  within.  I  am  very 
sorry  that  I  am  obliged  to  say  that  many  a  one  has 
been  wofully  deceived  by  these  ^outside  proclamations, 
and  some  one  may  be  again. 

I  am  unable  ^p  apologize  to  the  public  for  inflicting 
this  work  upon  it.  It  was  riot  through  "  the  entreaty 
of  friends  "  that  it  was  written.  It  is  not  the  "  out- 
pourings of  a  delicate  constitution."  (I  weigh  one 
hundred  and  sixty  pounds.)  I  was  not  driven  into 
it  "  by  a  predestination  to  write,  which  was  beyond 
my  control."  It  is  not  "  offered  for  the  benefit  of 
a  few  near  relatives,  who  have  insisted  upon  seeing 
it  in  print;"  nor  do  I  expect  the  public  will  tolerate 
it  simply  out  of  regard  to  my  feelings,  if  their  own 
feelings  are  not  enlisted  in  its  favor. 

The  book  is  filled  with  portraits  of  Puddleford  and 

5 


6  PREFACE. 

the  Puddlefordians.  The  reader  may  never  have  seen 
the  portrait  of  a  genuine  Puddlefordian.  Bless  me, 
how  much  that  man  has  lost !  If  the  reader  does 
not  like  the  painting  after  he  has  seen  it,  I  cannot 
help  it ;  it  may  be  the  fault  of  the  original,  or  it 
may  be  from  a  want  of  skill  in  the  painter. 

Like    the    carrier-pigeon,    let   it   go,    to    return    with 
glad  tidings,  or  none   at  all. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 


MANY  years  have  passed  since  Puddleford  was  first 
published.  In  the  meanwhile  the  world  has  turned 
round  and  round,  and  so  has  Puddleford.  The  book, 
too,  has  been  growing  in  size,  from  time  to  time,  and 
some  new  "  matter "  has  been  now  introduced. 

The  object  of  the  book  was  not  merely  humor.  It 
was  hoped  by  the  author  that  the  reader  would  dis- 
cover an  undercurrent,  showing  strong  points  of  human 
nature  in  the  rough,  arid  how  at  last  the  rugged 
rock  becomes  rounded  and  polished  into  the  smooth 
stone  —  the  iron  cleaver  turned  into  the  tempered  sword. 
How  stern,  honest  men,  who  are  driven  to  grapple 
and  struggle  with  the  hardships  of  a  new  country, 
meet  and  dispose  of  them  in  an  irregular  and  home- 
made way,  by  striking  at  the  root  of  the  question, 
disregarding  mere  form.  How  the  foundation  of  law. 
religion,  and  order  is  laid  in  strength,  if  not  in  beauty. 
How  other  generations  build  thereon  the  temple  with 
its  pillars  and  spire. 

7 


8  PREFACE    TO    THE    THIRD  EDITION. 

I  cannot  attempt  to  describe  the  Puddleford  of  to- 
day. Ike  Turtle  is  old  and  'gray,  but  his  children 
hold  high  positions  in  society  and  state.  Some  of 
thorn  have  Ike's  thorny,  sharp  genius,  but  toned  down 
by  education  and  cultivation  into  method  and  power. 
Squire  Longbow  totters  around  on  his  staff,  tries  over 
his  old  cases  with  anybody  who  will  listen  to  him,  re- 
peats his  decisions  of  fifteen  years  ago,  quotes  Ike's 
jokes,  and  sums  up  all  the  testimonj^  for  the  fortieth  time 
to  his  weary  listeners.  Aunt  Sonora  has  gone  to  her 
reward.  Other  courts  are  held  in  Puddleford  now. 
Technicalities  are  observed.  Law  is  law.  How  much 
more  justice  is  administered,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say. 

The  book  is  once  more  before  the  public.  The  pub- 
lic have  received  it  in  the  past  quite  as  well  as  it  de- 
served, perhaps.  Its  future  is  now  committed  to  the 
public  again. 

H.  H.  K. 

SEPTEMBER  8,  1874. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGE 

Puddleford.  —  Eagle  Tavern.  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bulliphant.  — 
May  Morning.  —  Birds.  —  Venison  Styles.  —  General  Char- 
acter of  Society.  — The  Colonel.  — Venison  Styles's  Cabin.  .  17 

CHAPTER   II. 

Lawsuit :  Filkins  against  Beadle.  —  Squire  Longbow  and  his 
Court.  —  Puddleford  assembled.  —  Why  Squire  Longbow  was 
a  Great  Man.  —  Ike  Turtle  and  Sile  Bates,  Pettifoggers.  — 
Mrs.  Sonora  Brown. — Uproar  and  Legal  Opinions.  —  Seth 
Bolles. — Miss  Eunice  Grimes. — Argument  to  Jury,  and 
Verdict 34 

CHAPTER   III. 

Wanderings  in  the  Wilderness. — A  Bee-Hunt.  —  Sunrise. — 
The  Fox-Squirrel.  —  The  Blue-Jay.  —  The  Gopher.  —  The 
Partridges.  —  Wild  Geese,  Ducks,  and  Cranes.  —  Blackbirds 
and  Meadow-Larks.  — Venison's  Account  of  the  Bees'  Domes- 
tic Economy.  —  How  Venison  found  what  he  was  in  Search 
of. — Honey  secured.  —  After-Reflections 64 

CHAPTER   IV. 

The  Log-Chapel.  —  Father  Beals.  —  Aunt  Graves.  —  Sister  Abi- 
gail. —  Bigelow  Van  Slyck,  the  Preacher.  —  His  Entree.  — 

9 


10  CONTENTS. 

How  he  worked.  —  One  of  his  Sermons.  —  Performance  of 
the  Choir.  —  "  Coronation  "  achieved.  — 'Getting  into  Position. 

—  Personal  Appeals.  —  Effect  on   the   Congregation.  —  Sab- 
bath in  the   Wilderness.  —  Is  Bigelow  the  only  Ridiculous 
Preacher? 66 

CHAPTER    V. 

Indian  Summer. — Venison  Styles  again. — Jim  Buzzard. — 
Fishing  Excursion. — Muskrat  City. — Indian  Burying-Ground. 

—  The  Pickerel  and  the  Rest  of  the  Fishes.  — The  Prairie.  — 
Wild  Geese.  —  The  Old  Mound.  —  Venison's  Regrets  at  the 
degenerating  Times.  —  His  Luck,  and  Mine.  —  Reminiscences 

of  the  Beavers.  —  Camping  out.  —  Safe  Return 81 

CHAPTER   VI. 

Educational  Efforts.  —  Squire  Longbow's  "Notis."  —  "  The 
Saterday  Nitc."  —  Ike  and  the  Squire.  —  Various  Remarks  to 
the  Point.  —  Mrs.  Fizzle  and  the  Temperance  Question.  — 
Collection  taken.  —  General  Result 96 

CHAPTER   VII. 

Social  War.  —  Longbow,.  Turtle  £  Co.  —  Bird,  Swipes,  Beagle 
&  Co.  —  Mrs.  Bird.  —  Mrs.  Beagle.  —  Mrs.  Swipes.  —  Turkey 
and  Aristocracy.  —  Scandal.  —  Husking-Bees,  and  "  such 
like."  —  The  Calathumpian  Band.  —  The  Horse-Fiddle.  —  The 
Giant  Trombone.  —  The  Gyastacutas.  —  Tuning  up.  —  Un- 
paralleled Effort.  —  Puddleford  still  a  Representative  Place  .  105 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

Puddleford  and  Politics.  —  Higgins  against  Wiggins.  —  The 
Candidates'  Personale.  —  Their  Platforms.  —  Delicate  Ques- 
tions. —  Stump  Speaking.  —  Wiggins  on  Higgins.  —  Imper- 
tinent Interruptions.  —  Higgins  on  Wiggins.  —  Ike  Turtle  not 
dead  yet.  —  Commotion.  —  Squire  Longbow  restores  Order. 

—  Grand    Stroke    of    Policy.  —  The   Roast  Ox   at   Gillett's 
Corners 115 


CONTENTS.  11 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Winter  upon  us.  —  The  Roosters  in  the  early  Morning.  —  The 
Blue-Jays  and  the  Squirrels.  —  The  Improvident  Turkey.  — 
The  Domestic  Ilearth,  and  who  occupied  it.  —  The  Old  Dog. 

—  The  Blessed  Old  Mail-Horse.  —  The  Newspapers.  —  Our 
Come-to-Tea.  —  Mrs.  Brown,  her  Arrival  and  Experiences.  — 
Entree  of  Bird,  Beagles  &  Co.  —  Conflicting  Elements,  and 
how  Ike  Turtle  assimilated  all.  —  Gratifying  Consequences.    .  128 

CHAPTER   X. 

Mrs.  Longbow  taken  sick.  —  General  Interest.  —  Dr.  Teazle.  — 
His  Visit.  —  "  The  Rattles."  —  Scientific  Diagnosis.  —  A  Pre- 
scription. —  Short  and  Dr.  Dobbs.  —  "  Pantod  of  the  Heart." 

—  Dismissal  of  Teazle.  — Installation  of  Dobbs.  —  "  Scyller 
and  Charafo'des."  —  Ike's  Views.  —  The  Colonel's.  —  Bates's. 

—  Mrs.  Longbow  dies.  —  Who  killed  her  :  conflicting  Opinions. 

—  Her  Funeral.  —  Bigelow  Van  Slyck's  Sermon. —  Interment.  148 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Squire  Longbow  in  Mourning.  —  The  Great  Question.  —  Aunt 
Sonora's  Opinion.  —  Other  People's.  —  The  Squire  goes  to 
Church.  —  His  Appearance  on  that  Occasion.  —  Aunt  Graves, 
and  her  Extra  Performance.  —  "  Nux  Vomica."  —  Anxious 
Mothers.  —  Mary  Jane  Arabella  Swipes.  —  Sister  Abigail.  — 
Ike  Turtle,  and  his  Designs.  —  He  calls  on  Aunt  Graves.  — 
She'll  go  it.  —  Sister  Abigail's  Objection.  —  The  Squire's  First 
Love  Letter.  —  The  Wedding.  —  Great  Getting-up.  —  Turtle's 
Examination.  —  The  Squire  runs  the  Risk  of  "the  Staterts." 

—  Bigelow's  Ceremony.  —  General  Break-Down.  —  Not  very 
Drunk 156 

CHAPTER   XII. 

The  Gfroup  at  "The  Eagle."  —  Entree  of  a  Stranger.  —  His 
Opinion  of  the  Tavern.  —  Bulliphant  wakes  up.  —  Can't  pick 
Fowls  after  Dark.  —  Sad  Case  of  Mother  Gantlet  and  Dr. 


12  CONTENTS 

Teazle.  —  Mr.  Farindale  begins  to  unbend.  —  Whistle  & 
Sharp,  and  their  Attorney.  —  Good  Pay.  —  Legal  Conversa- 
tion. —  Going  Sniping.  —  Great  Description  of  the  Animal.  — 
The  Party  start,  Farindale  holding  the  Bag.  —  "  Waiting  for 
Snipe."  —  Farindale's  Solitary  Return.  —  His  Interview  with 
Whistle  &  Sharp. —  Suing  a  Puddleford  Firm.  —  Relief 
Laws.  —  Farindale  gets  his  Execution.  —  The  Puddleford 
Bank.  —  The  Appraisers.  —  Proceeds  of  the  Execution.  .  .  166 

CUAPTER   XIII. 

The  "  Fev'Nag." —  Conflicting  Theories.  —  "  Oxergin  and  Hy- 
dergin."  —  Teazle's  Rationale.  —  The  Scourge  of  the  West. 
—  Sile  Bates,  and  his  Condition.  —  Squire  Longbow  and  Jim 
Buzzard.  —  Puddleford  prostrate.  —  Various  Practitioners.  — 
"The  Billerous  Duck." —  Pioneer  Martyrs.  —  Wave  over 
Wave 182 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

Uncommonly  Common  Schools.  —  Annual  School  District  Meet- 
ing. —  Accounts  for  Contingent  Expenses.  —  Turtle  and  Old 
Gulick's  Boy.  —  "  That  are  Glass."  —  The  Colonel  starts  the 
Wheels  again.  —  Bulliphant's  Tactics.  —  Have  we  hired 
"Deacon  Fluett's  Darter,"  or  not?  —  Isabel  Strickett. — 
Bunker  Hill  and  Turkey.  —  Sah-Jane  Beagles.  —  The  Ques- 
tion settled 190 

CHAPTER   XV. 

Venison  Styles  again.  —  Sermon  on  Nature.  —  Funeral  Songs  of 
the  Birds.  —  Their  Flight  and  Return.  — -  His  Theory  of  Gov- 
ernment. —  Sakoset.  —  The  Indians 198 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

Some  Account  of  John  Smith. — Nicknames.  —  Progress  of 
the  Age.  —  The  Colonel's  Opinion  of  Science.  —  John  Smith's 
Dream.  —  Ike  Turtle's  Dream.  —  Ike  takes  the  Boots.  .  .  .  206 


CONTENTS.  13 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Ike  Turtle  in  his  Office.  —  The  Author  consults  him  on  Point 
of  Law.  — Taxes  of  Non-Residents .  — Law  in  Puddleford.  — 
Mr.  Bridget's  Case.  —  Legal  Discussion.  —  The  Case  settled.  222 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

The  Wilderness  around  Puddleford.  —  The  Rivers  and  the  For- 
ests. —  Suggestions  of  Old  Times.  —  Footprints  of  the  Jesuits. 

—  Vine-covered  Mounds.  — Visit  to  the  Forest.  — The  Early 
Frost.  —  The  Forest  Clock.  —  The  Woodland  Harvest.  —  The 
Last  Flowers.  —  Nature  sowing  her  Seed.  —  The  Squirrel  in 
the  Hickory.  —  Pigeons,  their  Ways  and  their  Haunts.  —  The 
Butterflies  and  the  Bullfrog.  —  Nature  and  her  Sermons. — 
Her  Temple  still  open,  but  the  High-priest  gone 230 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

The  Old  New  England  Home.  —The  Sheltered  Village.  —  The 
Ancient  Buildings.  —  Dormer  Windows.  —  An  Old  Puritanical 
Home.  —  The  Old  Puritan  Church. — The  Burying- Ground. 

—  Deacon   Smith,    his    Habits    and    his    Helpers.  —  Major 
Simeon  Giles,  his  Mansion  and  his  Ancestry. — Old  Doctor 
Styles.  —  Crapo  Jackson,  the  Sexton.  —  "  Training  Days."  — 
Militia   Dignitaries.  —  Major   Boles.  —  Major  General  Pea- 
body.  —  Preparations    and   Achievements.  —  Demolition   of 
an  Apple  Cart.  —  "  Shoulder  Arms  !  "  —  Colonel  Asher  Pea- 
body.  —  The  Boys,  and  their  World.  — My  Last  Look  at  my 
Native  Village 239 

CHAPTER   XX. 

First  Militia  Law  in  Puddleford.  —  Aunt  Sonora  opposed  to  it. 

—  Turtle   sets  her  right. — Meeting  to   choose    Officers. — 
Longbow  electioneers  for  Captain :  takes  the  Chair.  —  Turtle 
objects.  —  P'ints  of  Order.  —  Vivy    Vocy  Vote  won't  do.  — 
Legally  authorized  Boxes  must  be  had.  —  Longbow's  Speech. 

—  Turtle  fined  for  Contempt.  —  Longbow  elected  Captain.  — 


14  CONTENTS. 

Great  Military  Turn-out.  —  Company  turn  a  Circle  •  Break 
down.  —  Turn  an  Angle ;  Break  down  again.  —  Address  to 
Troops.  —  Adjourn  sine  die 256 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

Mrs.  Bird  gets  in  a  Rage.  —  Starve  a  Child.  —  Mrs.  Bird  blows 
off  at  Mrs.  Beagle.  —  Takes  Breath.  —  Blows  off  again.  — 
Mrs.  Beagle  gives  a  Piece  of  her  Mind.  —  Aunt  Sonora  drops 
in.  —  She  has  no  Faith  in  Second  Wives.  —  All  adjourn  to  the 
House  of  Mrs.  Swipes.  — General  Fight  of  Tongues.  —  Mrs. 
Swipes  gives  her  Opinion.  —  A  Dead  Set  by  all  upon  Mrs. 
Longbow. — Mrs.  Longbow  raps  at  the  Door.  —  The  Scene 
changes.  —  Final  Wind-up 272 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

Appeal  of  Case  Filkins  vs.  Beadle.  —  Turtle's  Affidavit  and 
"  P'ints." —  Longbow's  Return.  —  County  Court.  —  Turtle 
opens  his  Law  "  P'ints."  —  Bates  replies.  — A  Fight.  —  Col- 
lateral Ish-ers.  —  Squire  Longbow  present.  —  The  Court  sus- 
tains Squire  Longbow.  —  Turtle  gets  into  a  Passion.  — 
Impanelling  the  Jury.  —  Mr.  Buzzlebaum  leaves.  —  Mr. 
Tumbleton  upsets  Ike.  —  Mr.  Flummer  is  cut  short  bob  off. 

—  Ike   opens   to   the   Jury.  —  The   Trial.  —  Charge   of   the 
Court.  —  Jury  retire.  —  Can't  agree 284 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Amusements  in  Puddleford.  —  The  Highland  Fling.  —  A  Fire- 
eater  comes  next.  —  Runs  a  Sword  down  his  Throat.  — 
Starts  his  Ribbon  Factory.  —  Borrows  Squire  Longbow's  Hat. 

—  Boils  Eggs  in   it.  —  The    Squire   gets   into   a  Passion.  — 
The   Grand   Caravan  is  posted.  —  Squire  Longbow  lectures 
on  the  Lion.  —  Bigelow  Van  Slyck  follows  on  the   Ichneu- 
mon. —  The    Caravan    arrives.  —  Great   Excitement.  —  Jim 
Buzzard   still   himself.  —  Aunt   Sonora  in   Trouble.  —  The 
Band  blows  away.  —  The  Canvas  is  raised.  —  Terrible  Press 
of   Puddlefordians.  —  The   Keeper   shows    up    the    Lion.  — 
Explains  why  he  has  no  Hair.  —  The  Ichneumon  is  found  at 
last.  —  The  Monkey  Ride.  —  Breaking  up 309 


CONTENTS.  15 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

The  Tinkhams  arrive.  —  Great  Stir.  —  Miss  Lavinia  Longbow's 
Head  is  turned.  —  Everybody  in  Love  with  the  Tinkhams. 

—  Wind  changes.  —  The  Tinkhams  fall.  —  The  whole  Pack 
out  on  them.  —  They  abandon  the  Settlement 337 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

And  still  New  England.  —  Sui  Generis.  —  Her  Ruggedness  the 
Soil  of  Liberty.  —  The  Contrast.  —  The  New  England  Con- 
servative. —  The  New  England  Man  of  Business.  —  The  West 
has  no  Past.  —  Fast,  and  Hospitable.  —  Saxon  Blood  and 
Saxon  Spirit 346 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

Spring  at  the  West.  —  "Sugar  Days."  —  Performances  of  the 
Cattle.  —  April.  —  Advent  of  the  Blue-Jays  and  the  Crows. 

—  The  Bluebirds,  Phebes,  and  Robins. — April   and  its  In- 
spiring Days.  —  The  Frogs  and   their  Concerts.  —  Gophers, 
Squirrels,    Ants;    Swallows,    Brown-Threshers,    and    Black- 
birds. —  The  Swallows,  the  Martins,  and  the  Advent  of  May.    357 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

A  Railroad  through  Puddleford.  —  The  Effect  on  Squire  Long- 
bow. —  Bright  Prospects  of  Puddleford.  —  Change.  —  li  The 
Stylcses."  —  The  New  Justice.  —  Aunt  Sonora's  Opinions.  — 
Ike  Turtle  grows  too.  —  Venison  disappears  from  among 
Men.  —  His  Grave  and  his  Epitaph 3G8 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

CONCLUSION.  —  The  Philosophy  of  Puddleford.  —  Diverse  Ele- 
ments in  Pioneer  Life.  —  Longbow  and  his  Administration.  — 
Not  Expensive. — Two  Hundred  a  Year,  all  told.  —  What 
would  Chief  Justice  Marshall  have  done  as  Justice  of  Puddle- 
ford  ?  —  Longbow  a  great  Man.  —  Fame  and  Politics.  —  Ike, 


16  CONTENTS. 

a  Wheel.  — :  Puddleford  Theology.  —  Camp-Meetings.  —  Who 
will  do  Bigelow's  Work  better  than  Bigelow  ?  —  Great  Hap- 
piness, and  few  Nerves. — No  "  Society."  —  No  Fashion  in 
Clothes,  or  anything  else.  —  Bull's-Eye  and  Pinchbeck.  — 
The  Great  Trade  didn't  "  Come  Off."  —  Abounding  Charity 
and  Hospitality.  —  Pilgrim  Blood.  —  Longbow's.  —  Planting 
the  Mud- Sills.  —  Old  Associations,  how  Controlling!  —  Good 
by,  Header 372 


THE 


PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Puddleford. — Eagle  Tavern.  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bulliphant.  —  May 
Morning.  —  Birds.  —  Venison  Styles.  —  General  Character  of 
Society.  —  The  Colonel.  —  Venison  Styles'  Cabin. 

IE  township  of  Puddleford  was  located  in  the  far 
west;  and  was,  and  is,  unknown,  I  presume,  to  a  large 
portion  of  my  readers.  It  has  never  been  considered  of 
sufficient  importance  by  atlas-makers  to  be  designated  by 
them  ;  and  yet  men,  women,  and  children  live  and  die 
in  Puddleford.  Its  population  helps  make  up  the  census 
of  the  United  States  every  ten  years  ;  it  helps  make  gov- 
ernors, congressmen,  presidents.  Puddleford  does,  and 
fails  to  do,  a  great  many  things,  just  like  the  "rest  of 
mankind/'  and  yet  who  knows  and  cares  anything  about 
Puddleford  ? 

Puddleford  was  well  enough  as  a  township  of  land,  and 
beautiful  was  its  scenery.  It  was  spotted  with  bright, 
clear  lakes,  reflecting  the  trees  that  stooped  over  them  ; 
and  straight  through  its  centre  flowed  a  majestic  river, 
guarded  by  hills  on  either  side.  The  village  of  Puddleford 
(there  was  a  village  of  Puddleford,  too)  stood  huddled  in 

2  n 


18  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

a  gorge  that  opened  up  from  the  river  ;  and  through  it, 
day  and  night,  a  little  brook  ran  tinkling  along,  making 
music  around  the  "  settlement."  The  houses  in  Puddle- 
ford  were  very  shabby  indeed  ;  I  am  very  sorry  to  be 
compelled  to  make  that  fact  public,  but  they  were  very 
shabby.  Some  were  built  of  logs,  and  some  of  boards, 
and  some  were  never  exactly  built  at  all,  but  came  together 
through  a  combination  of  circumstances  which  the  "  old- 
est inhabitant "  has  never  been  able  to  explain.  The 
log-houses  were  just  like  log-houses  in  every  place  else  ; 
for  no  person  has  yet  been  found  with  impudence  enough 
to  suggest  an  improvement.  A  pile  of  logs,  laid  up  and 
packed  in  mud  ;  a  mammoth  fireplace,  with  a  chimney- 
throat  as  large  ;  a  lower  story  and  a  garret,  connected 
in  one  corner  by  a  ladder,  called  "  Jacob's  ladder, "  are 
its  essentials.  A  few  very  ambitious  persons  in  Puddle- 
ford  had,  it  is  true,  attempted  to  build  frame-houses,  but 
there  was  never  one  entirely  finished  yet.  Some  of  them 
had  erected  a  frame  only,  when,  their  purses  having 
failed,  the  enterprise  was  left  at  the  mercy  of  the  storms. 
Others  had  covered  their  frames  ;  and  one  citizen,  old 
Squire  Longbow,  had  actually  finished  off  two  rooms  ; 
and  this,  in  connection  with  the  office  of  justice  of  the 
peace,  gave  him  a  standing  and  influence  in  the  settle- 
ment almost  omnipotent. 

The  reader  discovers,  of  course,  that  Puddleford  was 
a  very  miscellaneous-looking  place.  It  appeared  unfin- 
ished, and  ever  likely  to  be.  It  did  really  seem  that  the 
houses,  and  cabins,  and  sheds,  and  pig-sties,  had  been 
sown  up  and  down  the  gorge,  as  their  owners  sowed 
wheat.  The  only  harmony  about  the  place  was  the  har- 
mony of  confusion. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  19 

Puddleford  had  a  population  made  up  of  all  sorts  of 
people,  who  had  been,  from  a  variety  of  causes,  thrown 
together  just  there  ;  and  every  person  owned  a  number 
of  dogs,  so  that  it  was  very  difficult  to  determine  which 
were  numerically  the  strongest,  the  inhabitants  or  the 
dogs.  There  were  great  droves  of  cows  owned,  too, 
which  were  in  the  habit  of  congregating  every  morning, 
and  marching  some  miles  to  a  distant  marsh  to  feed  to 
the  jingle  of  the  bells  they  wore  on  their  necks. 

There  was  one  public  house  at  Puddleford.  It  was 
built  of  logs,  with  a  long  stoop  running  along  its  whole 
front,  supported  by  trunks  of  trees  roughly  cut  from  the 
woods,  arid  bark  and  knots  were  preserved  in  the  full 
strength  and  simplicity  of  nature.  Its  bar-room  was  the 
resort  of  all  the  leading  men  of  Puddleford,  besides  sev- 
eral ragged  boys  and  these  self-same  dogs.  It  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  village,  and  announced  itself  to  the 
public  through  a  sign,  upon  which  were  painted  a  cock 
crowing  and  a  spread  eagle.  The  bar  was  fenced  off  in 
one  corner  of  the  room,  and  was  supplied  with  three 
bottles  of  whiskey,  called,  according  to  their  color, 
brandy,  rum,  and  gin  ;  but  fly-tracks  and  dust  had  so 
completely  covered  them,  that  the  kind  of  liquor  was 
determined  by  the  pledge  of  the  landlord,  that  always 
passed  current.  There  were  also  about  a  dozen  mouldy 
crackers  laid  away  on  the  shelf  in  a  discarded  cigar-box, 
intended  more  particularly  for  the  travelling  public.  The 
walls  of  the  bar-room  were  illuminated  by  a  large  me- 
nagerie advertisement,  which  was  the  only  real  display 
of  the  fine  arts  that  ever  entered  the  place.  Upon  a 
table,  near  the  centre  of  the  room,  stood  a  backgammon 
and  checker-board,  which  were  in  use  from  the  rising 


20  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

sun  to  midnight.  Pipes,  crusted  thick  with  soot,  lay 
scattered  about  on  the  window-stools  and  chimney-shelf 
—  old  stubs  that  had  seen  service  —  and  all  over  the 
floor  rolled  great  quids  of  tobacco,  ancient  and  modern, 
the  creatures  of  yesterday  and  years  ago  ;  for  the  floor 
of  the  "  Eagle  Tavern  "  —  such  it  was  called  —  of  Puddle- 
ford  was  never  profaned  by  a  broom,  nor  its  windows 
with  water.  He  who  attempted  to  look  out  would  have 
supposed  there  was  an  eternal  fog  in  the  streets. 

The  ladies'  parlor,  belonging  to  the  Eagle  Tavern  of 
Puddleford,  was  a  very  choice  spot,  and  had  been  fitted 
up  without  regard  to  expense.  Its  floor  was  covered 
with  a  faded  rag-carpet,  and  its  walls  were  enlivened 
with  a  shilling  print,  showing  forth  Noah's  Ark,  and  the 
animals  entering  therein.  Any  person  who  had  an  eye 
for  the  practical,  could  see  just  how  Noah  loaded  his 
craft,  as  the  picture  brought  out  clearly  a  long  plank 
thrown  ashore,  up  which  the  animals  were  climbing. 
I  have  often  thought  that  I  never  saw  it  rain  so  tre- 
mendously as  it  did  in  that  picture.  Near  by  hung  a 
six-penny  likeness  of  Washington,  somewhat  defaced,  as 
some  irreverent  Puddleford  boy  had  run  his  finger  through 
the  old  general's  eye,  which  detracted  very  much  from 
the  dignity  of  his  expression.  He  looked  rather  funny 
with  one  eye  cocked  ;  and  he  felt,  I  presume  —  that  is, 
if  pictures  can  feel — just  as  funny  as  he  looked. 

One  advantage  which  the  lodging-rooms  of  this  tavern 
possessed  ought  not  to  be  overlooked.  They  were  lit  up 
by  the  everlasting  stars,  and  the  tired  traveller  could  go 
to  sleep  by  the  dancing  rays  that  shot  down  through  the 
crevices  of  the  roof  above. 

11  Old  Stub  Bulliphant,"    as  he  was  called,  was,  and 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  21 

had  been  for  years,  landlord  of  the  "Eagle."  lie  was 
about  five  feet  high,  and  nearly  as  many  in  circumference. 
His  eyes  were  of  no  particular  color,  although  they  were 
once.  His  eye-lashes  had  been  scorched  off  by  alco- 
holic fire  ;  and  nature,  to  keep  up  appearances,  in  a  fit 
of  desperation,  substituted  in  their  stead  a  binding  of 
red,  which  looked  like  two  little  rainbows  hanging  upon 
a  storm,  for  a  rheumy  water  was  continually  running 
between  them.  His  nose  was  very  red,  and  his  face  was 
always  in  blossom,  winter  and  summer.  A  pair  of  tow 
breeches  and  a  red  flannel  shirt  composed  his  wardrobe 
two  thirds  of  the  year.  The  truth  is,  the  old  fellow 
drank,  and  always  drank,  and  he  became,  finally,  pre- 
served in  spirits. 

Puddleford  was  not  destitute  of  a  church,  not  by  any 
means.  The  "  log-chapel,"  when  I  first  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  place,  was  an  ancient  .building.  It 
was  erected  at  a  period  almost  as  early  as  the  tavern  — 
not  quite  —  temporal  wants  pressing  the  early  settlers 
closer  than  spiritual. 

This,  precious  reader,  is  a  skeleton  view  of  Puddle- 
ford,  as  it  existed  when  I  first  knew  it.  Just  out  of 
this  village,  some  time  during  the  last  ten  years,  I  took 
possession  of  a  large  tract  of  land,  called  "  Burr-oak 
Opening,"  that  is,  a  wide,  sweeping  plain,  thinly  clad 
with  burr-oaks.  Few  sights  in  nature  are  more  beautiful. 
The  eye  roams  over  these  parks  unobstructed  by  under- 
growth, the  trees  above,  and  the  sleeping  shadows  on 
the  grass  below. 

The  first  time  I  looked  upon  this  future  home  of  mine, 
it  lay  calm  and  bright,  bathed  in  the  warm  sun  of  a  May 
morning,  and  filled  with  birds.  The  budp  were  just 


22  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

breaking  into  leaf,  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  the  wild- 
wood  fragrance  of  spring.  Piles  of  mosses,  soft  as  vel- 
vet, were  scattered  about.  Wild  violets,  grouped  in 
clusters,  the  white  and  red  lupin,  the  mountain  pink, 
and  thousands  of  other  tiny  flowers,  bright  as  sparks 
of  fire,  mingled  in  confusion.  It  was  alive  with  birds  ; 
the  brown  thrasher,  the  robin,  the  blue-jay,  poured  forth 
their  music  to  the  very  top  of  their  lungs.  The  thrasher, 
with  his  brown  dress  and  very  quizzical  look,  absolutely 
revelled  in  a  luxury  of  melody.  He  mocked  all  the 
birds  about  him.  Now  he  was  as  good  a  blue-jay  as 
blue-jay  himself,  and  screamed  as  loud  ;  but  suddenly 
bouncing  around  on  a  limb,  and  slowly  stretching  out 
his  wings,  he  died  away  in  a  most  pathetic  strain  ;  then, 
darting  into  another  tree,  and  turning  his  saucy  eye  in- 
quisitively down,  he  rattled  off  a  chorus  or  two,  that  I 
might  know  he  was  not  so  sad  a  fellow  after  all.  Now, 
his  soft,  flute-like  notes  fairly  melted  in  his  throat ;  then 
he  drew  out  a  long,  violin  strain  the  whole  length  of  his 
bow  ;  then  a  blast  on  his  trumpet  roused  a'l  the  birds, 
lie  was  "  everything  by  turns,  and  nothing  long.7'  After 
completing  his  performance,  away  he  went,  and  his  place, 
in  a  moment  almost,  was  occupied  by  another,  repeating 
the  medley,  for  the  whole  wood  was  alive  with  them. 

Scores  of  blue-jays,  in  the  tops  of  the  trees,  were 
picking  away  at  the  tender  buds.  The  robin,  that  house- 
hold bird,  first  loved  by  our  children,  was  also  here. 
Sitting  alone  and  apart,  in  a  reverie,  and  blowing  occa- 
sionly  his  mellow  pipe,  he  seemed  to  exist  only  for  his 
own  comfort,  and  to  forget  that  he  was  one  of  the  chor- 
isters of  the  wood.  Woodpeckers  were  flitting  hither 
and  thither  ;  troops  of  quails  whistled  in  the  distance  ; 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  23 

the  oriole  streamed  out  his  bright  light  through  the  green 
branches;  there  was  a  winnowing  of  wings,  a  dashing 
of  leaves,  as  birds  came  rushing  in  and  out.  It  was 
their  festival. 

This  scene  was  heightened  by  the  appearance  of  a 
hunter.  He  was  a  noble  specimen  of  the  physical  man. 
Tall,  brawn}7"  —  a  giant  in  strength  —  his  form  loomed 
up  in  the  distance.  He  was  attired  with  a  red  flannel 
"  wamus,"  a  leathern  belt  girt  around  his  waist,  deer- 
skin leggins  and  moccasons,  and  a  white  felt  hat  that 
ran  up  to  a  peak.  His  rifle  and  shot-pouch  were  slurig 
around  him,  and  a  few  fox-squirrels  hung  dangling  on 
his  belt.  His  whole  figure  exhibited  a  harmony  of 
proportion,  a  majesty  of  combination,  sometiu.?s  seen  in 
Roman  statues.  As  I  approached  him,  his  face  fairly 
beamed  with  rustic  intelligence  arid  good  nature,  and  the 
old  man  grasped  me  by  the  hand,  and  shook  it  as  heartily 
as  if  he  had  known  me  a  thousand  years. 

"  So  you  are  the  person,"  said  Venison  Styles,  —  for 
such  I  afterwards  learned  was  the  name  he  went  by  in 
the  neighborhood,  —  "  so  you  are  the  person  that's  come 
in  here  to  settle,  I  s'pose —  to  cut  down  the  trees  and 
plough  up  this  ere  ground."  I  told  him  I  was.  "Well," 
said  he,  "so  it  goes  ;  I  have  moved  and  moved,  and  I 
can't  keep  out  of  the  way  of  these  ploughs  and  axes. 
It  was  just  as  much  as  the  deer,  and  beaver,  and  otter, 
bould  do,  to  stand  them  government  surveyors  that  went 
tramping  around  among  'era,  just  as  though  they  were 
going  to  be  sold  out  wher-or-no.  And  then,"  contin- 
ued Styles,  growing  warmer,  "  they  tried  to  form  a 
thing  they  called  a  school  de-stvict  about  my  ears  ;  and 
then  came  a  church,  and  they  put  a  little  bell  on  it,  and 


24  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

that  scart  out  the  game.     Game  can't  stand  church-bells, 
stranger,  they  can't ;  they  clears  right  out." 

I  tried  to  soothe  the  old  man's  feelings,  and  among 
other  things,  advised  him  to  give  up  his  hunting  and 
fishing,  and  settle  down,  and  till  the  soil  for  a  living. 

"  What  on  airth  does  anybody  want  to  till  the  soil 
for?"  replied  Styles.  "What  does  the  soil  want  tilling 
for  ?  Warn't  the  airth  made  right  in  the  first  place  ? 
The  woods  were  filled  with  beast  and  bird,  warn't  they  ? 
and  the  whole  face  of  natur  covered  with  grass  and  wild 
fruits  ?  and  streams  and  lakes  were  scattered  every- 
where ?  Ain't  there  enough  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  wear, 
growing  nat'ral  in  the  woods  ?  and  what  else  does  any- 
body want,  stranger  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  growing  old,  and  your  sight  is  dim, 
my  friend,"  said  I. 

"  Old  !  dim  !  eyes  bad  !  no  !  no  !  Venison  Styles  is 
good  for  twenty  years  yet.  I  don't  take  physic.  There 
ain't  no  more  use  of  taking  such  stuff,  than  there  is  of 
giving  it  to  my  dogs.  'Tain't  nat'ral  to  take  it,  not  no 
how.  All  a  man  wants  in  sickness  is  a  little  saxafax- 
tea,  or  something  warmin'  of  that  sort.  Children  are  all 
spi'lt  nowadays.  Their  heads  arid  inards  are  crammed 
with  physic  and  laming,  and  they  ain't  good  for  nothing. 
For  my  part,  I  hate  physic,  books,  newspapers,  and  even 
the  mail-carrier.  None  of  my  folks  were  troubled  with 
laming  ;  for,  as  near  as  I  can  tell,  the  old  man  (his 
father)  died  hunting  game  and  furs  down  on  the  'Hios, 
when  it  'twas  all  woods  there,  and  I  never  know'd  of 
his  writing  or  reading  any." 

"  Well,  Venison,"  said  I,  "  how  long  have  you  been 
around  in  these  parts  ?  " 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  25 

"  Not  mor-nor  four  or  five  years,  or  so  about/7  answered 
Styles.  "  The  game  and  I  have  kept  running  westard 
and  westard,  from  civilization,  as  they  call  it,  till  I  have 
travelled  nigh  on  a  thousand  miles,  or  so.  I  vised  to 
hunt  and  trap  way  down  on  Erie,  before  them  steamboats 
came  a-snorting  up,  but  when  they  came,  they  scart  all 
the  deer  and  everything  out  of  the  woods  and  streams  ; 
and  then  I  left,  too.  This  rifle/'  continued  Styles,  "this 
rifle  has  been  along  with  me  for  forty  years.  I  have  eat 
arid  slept  with  it.  I  have  worn  out  mor-nor  twenty  dogs 
—  fairly  worn  'em  out,  and  buried  every  one  with  a  tear; 
and  byme-by  old  Venison  himself  will  go,  but  he  is  good 
on  the  track  yet." 

I  assented  to  much  that  was  said  by  old  Styles,  and 
growing  warmer  the  more  interest  I  took  in  him,  he 
rattled  on  about  civilization  —  its  effects,  &c.,  &c.  ;  and, 
finally,  looking  into  a  tree,  where  a  cluster  of  spring 
birds  were  singing,  he  turned  to  me,  and  pointing  up- 
ward—  "Do  you  hear  that?77  he  exclaimed;  "that 
music  was  made  when  the  world  was  —  them  throats 
war  n't  tuned  by  any  singing-master  ;  they  always  keep 
in  order.  If  men  would  only  jist  let  natur  alone,  we 
could  get  along  well  enough.  'Tain't  right  to  make  any 
additions  to  natur.  'Tain't  right  to  invent  music,  nor  to 
mock  the  birds,  nor  cut  down  the  woods,  nor  dam  up  the 
streams.  It's  all  agin  natur,  the  whole  on't.  The  birds 
can't  be  improved  on,  and  the  streams  and  woods  belong 
to  the  fish  and  game.  They  are  their  houses  as  much  as 
my  house  is  my  house.  I  always  hated  a  saw-mill," 
continued  Styles  ;  "its  very  sound  makes  me  mad.  I 
never  know'd  a  deer  to  stay  within  hearing  of  one. 
They  roar  away  just  as  though  they  were  going  to  tear 


26  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

down  the  whole  forest,  and  pile  it  up  into  boards.  I 
always  try  to  keep  out  of  their  way."  But  I  cannot 
give  all  the  conversation  of  this  eccentric  genius  of  the 
forest,  with  me.  He  was  one  of  a  class  of  men  who  are 
hurried  along  by  immigration,  like  clouds  before  the  tem- 
pest. When  the  rays  of  improvement  warmed  St3Tles, 
he  had  pushed  farther  back  into  the  shade.  He  was  a 
connecting  link  between  barbarism  and  civilization.  One 
half  of  him  was  lit  up  with  the  light  of  the  sturdy  pio- 
neers, who  crowded  in  upon  him  from  the  east,  and  the 
other  half  stood  dark  and  gloomy  in  savage  solemnity. 
With  all  his  antipathy  to  the  society  of  the  whites,  he 
was  their  stanch  friend,  and  in  many  ways  was  of  great 
service.  lie  became,  as  we  shall  see,  one  of  rny  pleas- 
antest  companions,  and  I  cannot  help  now  declaring, 
that  few  men  have  taken  such  strong  hold  upon  my  af- 
fections as  this  same  Venison  Styles. 

The  old  man  shouldered  his  rifle,  and  inviting  me  to 
"  drop  into  his  cabin,  up  the  creek/'  bid  me  "  good 
morning,  stranger. " 

Eeader,  such  was  the  scene  presented  to  my  eye  the 
day  I  first  looked  upon  the  piece  of  wild  land  upon  which 
I  finally  settled  and  improved.  I  had  just  arrived  from 
an  eastern  village,  where  I  was  born,  and  "  brought 
up/'  as  the  phrase  is.  A  somewhat  broken  fortune  and 
breaking  health  had  driven  me  from  it,  with  a  moderate 
family,  to  seek  a  spot  elsewhere  ;  and  I  resolved  to  try 
the  Great  West,  that  paradise  (if  the  word  of  people 
who  never  saw  it  is  to  be  taken)  where  the  surplus  pop- 
ulation of  a  portion  of  the  world  have  found  a  home. 

The  change  was  great.  But  great  as  it  was,  I  re- 
solved to  endure  it.  So,  at  it  I  went.  I  procured 


HUMORS    OF  THE   WEST.  27 

"help/'  girdled  the  trees,  put  a  breaking  team  of  twelve 
yoke  of  cattle  on  the  ground,  tore  it  up,  fenced  the  land, 
raised  a  log-house,  and  in  the  fall  I  had  a  crop  of  wheat 
growing,  the  withered  oak  trees  standing  guard  over  it. 
My  family,  consisting  of  a  wife  and  three  children,  a 
boy  of  eight,  and  two  girls  of  twelve  and  ten,  were  re- 
moved to  their  new  quarters,  and  I  had  thus  fairly  begun 
the  world  again,  arid  all  things  were  as  new  about  rne 
as  if  I  had  just  been  born  into  it. 

During  the  summer,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  studying 
the  general  character  of  the  inhabitants  of  Puddleford, 
and  its  surrounding  country  population.  Like  most 
western  settlements,  it  was  made  up  of  all  kinds  of  ma- 
terials, all  sorts  of  folks,  holding  every  opinion.  More 
than  a  dozen  states  had  contributed  to  make  up  its 
people.  Society  was  exceedingly  miscellaneous.  The 
keen  Yankee,  the  obstinate  Pennsylvanian,  and  the  reck- 
less Southerner  were  there.  Each  one  of  these  persons 
had  brought  along  with  him  his  early  habits  and  associa- 
tions—  his  own  views  of  business,  law,  and  religion. 
When  thrown  together  on  public  questions,  this  compo- 
sition boiled  up  like  a  mixture  of  salts  arid  soda.  Fac- 
tions, of  course,  were  formed  among  those  whose  early 
education  and  habits  were  congenial  ;  divisions  were 
created,  and  a  war  of  prejudice  and  opinion  went  on 
from  month  to  month,  and  year  to  year.  The  New 
England  Yankee  stood  about  ten  years  ahead  of  the 
Pennsylvania  German  in  all  his  ideas  of  progress,  while 
the  latter  stood  back,  dogged  and  sullen,  attached  to  the 
customs  of  his  fathers.  Another  general  feature  con- 
sisted in  tliis,  that  there  was  no  permanency  to  society. 
The  iuhabitants  were  constantly  changing,  pouring  out 


28  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

and  in,  like  the  waters  of  a  river,  so  that  a  complete 
revolution  took  place  every  four  or  five  years.  Every- 
body who  remained  in  Puddleford  expected  to  remove 
somewhere  else  very  soon.  They  were  merely  sojourn- 
ers,  not  residents.  There  was  no  attachment  to,  or  ven- 
eration for,  the  past  of  Puddleford,  because  Puddleford 
had  no  past.  The  ties  of  memory  reached  to  older 
states.  There  stood  the  church  that  sheltered  the  infant 
years  of  Puddleford's  population,  and  there  swung  the 
bell  that  tolled  their  fathers  and  fathers'  fathers  to  the 
tomb.  There  was  the  long  line  of  graves,  running  back  a 
hundred  years,  where  the  sister  of  yesterday,  and  the 
ancestor  whose  virtues  were  only  known  through  tra- 
dition, were  buried.  There  tottered  the  old  homestead 
which  had  passed  through  the  family  for  generations, 
filled  with  heirlooms  that  had  become  sacred.  The 
school-house  was  there,  where  the  village  boys  shouted 
together.  Looking  back  from  a  new  country,  where  all 
is  confusion,  to  an  old  one,  where  figures  have  the  sta- 
bility of  a  painting,  objects  which  were  once  trivial  start 
out  upon  the  canvas  in  bolder  relief.  The  venerable, 
gray-headed  pastor,  who  appeared  regularly  in  the  vil- 
lage pulpit  for  half  a  century,  to  impart  the  word  of 
life,  rises  in  the  memory,  and  stands  fixed  there,  like  a 
statue.  The  quaint  cut  of  his  coat,  the  neat  tie  of  his 
neckcloth,  the  spectacles  resting  on  the  tip  of  his  nose, 
his  hums  and  haws,  his  eye  of  reproof,  his  gestures  of 
vengeance,  are  now  living  things  —  are  preaching  still. 
We  see  again  the  changing  crowd,  that  year  after  year 
went  in  and  out  of  that  holy  place  ;  the  spot  where  the 
old  deacon  sat,  his  head  resting  on  a  pillar,  his  tranquil 
face  turned  upward,  his  mouth  open,  enjoying  a  doze  as 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  29 

ho  listened  to  the  sermon.  We  recollect  the  gay  bridal, 
the  solemn  funeral,  the  buoyant  face  of  the  one,  the  still, 
cold  one  of  the  other.  We  even  remember  the  lame  old 
sexton,  who  rang  the  bell  and  went  limping  up  to  the 
burying-grourid,  with  a  spade  upon  his  shoulder.  Even 
•  lie,  of  no  consequence  when  seen  every  day,  is  transformed 
by  distance,  and  mellowed  by  memory,  into  a  real  being. 
Arid  then  there  are  the  hills,  and  streams,  and  waterfalls, 
that  shed  their  music  through  our  boyish  souls,  until  they 
became  a  part  of  our  very  existence.  No  man  ever  lived 
who  entirely  forgot  these  things,  suppressed  though  they 
might  be  by  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  mature r  years. 
And  no  circumstance  so  likely  to  bring  them  all  up, 
glowing  afresh,  as  a  removal  to  a  new  country.  Of 
course,  no  one  was  attached  to  Puddleford,  as  a  locality, 
any  more  than  the  wandering  Arab  is  attached  to  the 
particular  spot  where  he  pitches  his  tent  and  feeds  his 
camels. 

Another  general  feature  seemed  to  be  the  strange  char- 
acter of  a  large  part  of  the  population.  Puddleford  was 
filled  with  bankrupts,  who  had  fled  from  their  eastern 
creditors,  anxious  for  peace  of  mind  and  bread  enough 
to  eat.  Like  decayed  vessels,  that  had  been  tempest- 
tossed  and  finally  condemned,  these  hulks  seemed  to  be 
lying  up  in  ordinary  in  the  wilderness.  Puddleford  was  to 
that  class  a  kind  of  hospital.  This  man,  upon  inquiry,  I 
found  had  rolled  in  luxury,  but  a  turn  in  Hour  one  day 
blew  him  sky-high.  Another  failed  on  a  land  speculation. 
Another  bought  more  goods  than  he  paid  for.  Another 
had  been  mixed  up 'in  a  fraud.  Another  had  been  actu- 
ally guilty  of  crime.  The  farming  community  were  gen- 
erally free  from  these  charges  ;  but  Puddleford  proper 
was  not. 


30  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

The  "  Colonel/'  as  we  called  him,  was  a  fair  specimen 
of  the  bankrupt  class.  He  was  one  of  those  unfortunate 
beings  who  was  well  enough  started  in  the  world  ;  but 
after  having  been  tossed  and  buffeted  around  by  his  own 
extravagance,  he  was  finally  driven  into  the  forest,  lie 
was  educated,  polished,  proud,  and  poor.  He  had  sunk 
two  or  three  fortunes,  earned  by  somebody  else,  chasing 
pleasure  around  the  world.  His  reputation  having  become 
soiled,  and  his  pockets  emptied,  he  concluded  —  to  use 
his  own  language  —  to  "hide  himself  from  his  enemies, 
arid  die  a  kind  of  civil  death. "  "  Men/7  said  the 
Colonel,  "  are  naturally  robbers,  and  it  is  safer  to  run 
than  fight  with  them/7  I  have  heard  him  declare,  in  a 
jocose  way,  that  he  was  the  most  "  injured  man  living ; 
for  the  whole  human  family/7  he  said,  "  set  to  and 
picked  his  pockets,  and  now  the  public  ought  to  sup- 
port him/7  He  said,  "  he  couldn't  see  why  the  govern- 
ment didn't  pass  laws  for  the  relief  of  cases  like  his  ; 
for  a  government  is  good  for  nothing  that  fails  to  sup- 
port its  people.  Starvation  in  a  republic  would  be  a 
disgrace,  and  ought  not  to  be  permitted/7  The  Colonel 
said  "  there  was  no  use  in  fighting  destiny  —  no  one  man 
can  do  it  —  and  it  was  his  destiny  to  be  poor/7  He  said 
he  "  had  no  place  to  remove  to,  and  that  he  couldn't  get 
there  if  he  had  ;  77  that  he  was  "  like  an  old  pump  that 
needs  a  pail  of  water  thrown  in  every  time  it  is  used  to 
set  it  a-going/7 

The  Colonel  resided  in  the  village  of  Puddleford. 
His  family  was  composed  of  a  wife  and  two  daughters, 
a  couple  of  dashing  girls,  who  looked  like  birds  of  fine 
plumage  that  hud  been  driven  by  a  storm  beyond  their 
latitude.  His  household  furniture  was  made  up  of  the 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  31 

fag-ends  of  this  and  that,  which  had  somehow  escaped  a 
half  a  dozen  sheriff's  sales.  His  family  wardrobe  had 
been  rescued  in  the  same  way,  and  contained  all  the 
fashions  of  the  last  twenty-five  years.  Here  and  there 
were  scattered  some  plain  articles  of  western  manufac- 
ture, by  way  of  contrast.  Three  shilling  chairs  stood 
on  a  faded  Brussels  carpet ;  an  un  pain  ted  white-wood 
table  supported  a  silver  tea-set ;  thus,  the  faded  splendor 
of  the 'past  contrasted  with  the  rustic  simplicity  of  the 
present.  One  thing  I  must  not  overlook  :  the  Colonel 
had  an  old  tattered  carriage  that  had  followed  him 
through  good  and  evil  report,  his  ups  and  downs  of  life. 
I  have  often  been  amused  to  see  it  roll  along  with  a  mel- 
ancholy air  of  superiority,  putting  on  the  face  of  a  good 
man  in  affliction.  It  was  drawn  by  two  diminutive  Indian 
ponies,  who  would  turn  and  look  wildly  at  the  antiquated 
thing,  as  if  apprehensive  of  danger. 

The  Colonel  kept  an  office,  and  pretended  to  act  as  a 
kind  of  land  agent,  and  agent  for  insurance  companies, 
and  so  on.  He  was  never  known  to  pay  a  debt ;  it  being 
against  his  principles,  as  he  used  to  say  :  besides,  he 
said  "  his  note  would  last  a  man  ten  times  as  long  as  the 
money ;  and  they  were  not  very  uncurrent  neither  ;  for 
the  justice  of  the  peace  at  Puddleford  had  taken  a  very 
great  many  of  them,  and  passed  his  judgment  upon  them 
for  their  full  face." 

But  I  will  not  go  into  particulars  with  the  Puddleford- 
ians  at  present.  During  the  summer  my  acquaintance 
with  Venison  Styles  had  ripened  into  a  deeper  affection 
for  the  old  hunter.  I  accepted  his  invitation  to  visit 
him,  and  found  him  sheltered  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
and  nestled  in  a  valley,  his  hut  overshadowed  by  great 


32  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

trees,  which  were  filled  with  birds  pouring1  forth  their 
songs.  A  little  brook  tinkled  down  the  slope  by  his 
hut,  singing  all  kinds  of  woodland  tunes,  as  the  breeze 
swelled  and  died  along  its  banks.  The  squirrels  were 
chatting  their  nonsense,  and  the  rolling  drum  of  the  par- 
tridge was  heard  almost  at  his  very  door. 

Venison  was  a  hunter,  a  fisher,  and  a  trapper.  The 
inside  walls  of  his  cabin  were  hung  about  with  rifles, 
shot-guns,  and  fishing-rods,  which  had  been  accumulat- 
ing for  years.  Deer-horns  and  skins  lay  scattered  here 
and  there,  the  trophies  of  the  chase.  Seines  for  lakes, 
and  scoop-nets  for  smaller  streams,  were  drying  outside 
upon  the  trees. 

Venison  kept  around  him  a  brood  of  lazy,  lounging, 
good-for-nothing  boys,  of  all  ages,  about  half-clothed,  who 
followed  the  business  of  their  father.  This  young  stock 
were  growing  up  as  he  had  grown-,  to  occupy  somewhere 
their  father's  position,  and  lead  his  life.  They  lived  just 
as  well  as  the  hounds,  for  all  stood  on  an  equality  in  the 
family.  These  ragamuffins  were  perfect  masters  of  nat- 
ural history.  There  was  not  an  instinct  or  peculiarity 
belonging  to  the  denizens  of  the  woods  and  streams 
which  they  did  not  perfectly  understand.  They  seemed 
to  have  penetrated  the  secrecy  of  animal  life,  and  fath- 
omed it  throughout.  Birds,  and  beasts,  and  fish  were 
completely  within  their  power  ;  and  there  was  a  kind 
of  matter-of-course  success  with  them  in  their  capture 
that  was  absolutely  provoking  to  a  civilized  hunter. 

It  was  of  no  importance  where  Venison  Styles'  boys 
made  their  home,  or  under  what  particular  roof.  Their 
home  was  mainly  a  depot  for  their  fishing-tackles,  guns, 
and  game.  They  roamed  away  weeks  at  a  time,  fifty 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  33 

miles  off,  up  this  stream  arid  that,  over  many  a  lake,  and 
camped  out  nights,  feeding  upon  their  plunder ;  and 
Venison  felt  no  more  concern  about  them  than  he  did 
about  the  deer,  who  indeed  were  not  much  wilder  than 
they.  They  were  as  hard  as  flints,  sharp  on  the  chase, 
happy  in  their  wild,  wayward-life,  and  generally  managed 
to  trap  and  kill  just  enough  to  be  self-supporting,  and 
keep  soul  and  body  together. 
3 


34  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  II. 

Lawsuit :  Filkins  against  Beadle.  —  Squire  Longbow  and  his  Court. 
—  Puddleford  assembled. — Why  Squire  Longbow  was  a  Great 
Man.  —  Ike  Turtle  and  Sile  Bates,  Pettifoggers.  —  Mrs.  Sonora 
Brown.  —  Uproar  and  Legal  Opinions.  —  Seth  Bolles.  —  Miss 
Eunice  Grimes.  —  Argument  to  Jury,  and  Verdict. 

Y  intercourse  with  the  inhabitants  of  Puddleford  had 
been  frequent  during  the  summer,  and  my  acquaint- 
ance with  them  had  now  become  quite  general.  One 
morning,  in  the  month  of  September,  I  was  visited  by  a 
constable,  who  very  authoritatively  served  upon  me  a 
venire,  which  commanded  me  to  be  and  appear  before 
Jonathan  Longbow,,  at  his  office  in  the  village  of  Puddle- 
ford,  at  one  o'clock  P.  M.,  to  serve  as  a  juryman  in  a 
case,  then  and  there  to  be  tried,  between  Philista  Filkins, 
plaintiff,  and  Charity  Beadle,  defendant,  in  an  action  of 
slander,  etc.  The  constable  remarked,  after  reading  this 
threatening  legal  epistle  to  me,  that  I  had  better  "be  up 
to  time,  as  Squire  Longbow  was  a  man  who  would  not 
be  trifled  with/'  and  then  leisurely  folding  it  up,  and 
pushing  it  deep  down  in  his  vest-pocket,  he  mounted 
his  horse,  and  hurried  away  in  pursuit  of  the  balance  of 
the  panel.  Of  course,  I  could  not  think  of  being  guilty 
of  a  contempt  of  court,  alter  having  been  so  solemnly 
warned  of  the  consequences,  and  I  was  therefore  prompt* 
ly  on  the  spot,  according  to  command. 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  35 

Squire  Longbow  held  his  court  at  the  public  house,  in 
a  room  adjoining  the  bar-room,  because  the  statute  pro- 
hibited his  holding  it  in  the  bar-room  itself.  He  was  a 
law-abiding  man,  and  would  not  violate  a  statute.  I 
found,  on  my  arrival,  that  the  whole  country,  for  miles 
around,  had  assembled  to  hear  this  interesting  case. 
Men,  women,  and  children  had  turned  out,  and  made  a 
perfect  holiday  of  it.  All  were  attired  in  their  best. 
The  men  were  dressed  in  every  kind  of  fashion,  or, 
rather,  all  the  fashions  of  the  last  twenty  years  were 
scattered  through  the  crowd.  Small-crown,  steeple-crown, 
low-crown,  wide-brim,  and  narrow-brim  hats  ;  wide-tail, 
stub-tail,  and  swallow-tail,  high-collar,  and  low-collar 
coats  ;  bagging  and  shrunken  breeches ;  every  size  and 
shape  of  shirt-collar  were  there,  all  brought  in  by  the 
settlers  when  they  immigrated.  The  women  had  at- 
tempted to  ape  the  fashions  of  the  past.  Some  of  them 
had  mounted  a  "  bustle  "  about  the  size  of  a  bag  of  bran, 
and  were  waddling  along  under  their  load  with  great  sat- 
isfaction. Some  of  the  less  ambitious  were  reduced  to 
a  mere  bunch  of  calico.  One  man,  I  noticed,  carried 
upon  his  head  an  old-fashioned,  bell-crowned  hat,  with 
a  half-inch  brim,  a  shirt-collar  running  up  tight  under  his 
ears,  tight  enough  to  lift  him  from  the  ground  (this  ran 
out  in  front  of  his  face  to  a  peak,  serving  as  a  kind  of 
cutwater  to  his  nose),  a  faded  blue  coat  of  the  genuine 
swallow-tail  breed,  a  pair  of  narrow-fall  breeches  that 
had  passed  so  often  through  the  wash-tub,  arid  were  so 
shrunken,  that  they  appeared  to  have  been  strained  on 
over  his  limbs  :  this  individual,  reader,  was  walking 
about,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  perfectly  satisfied, 
\vlustling  Yankee  Doodle,  and  other  patriotic  airs.  Most 


36  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

of  the  women  had  something-  frizzled  around  their  shoes, 
which  were  called  pantalets,  giving-  their  extremities  the 
appearance  of  the  legs  of  BO  many  bantam  hens. 

The  men  were  amusing  themselves  pitching  coppers 
and  quoits,  running  horses,  and  betting  upon  the  result 
of  the  trial  to  come  off,  as  every  one  was  expected  to 
form  some  opinion  of  the  merits  of  the  case. 

The  landlord  of  the  Eagle  was  of  course  very  busy. 
He  bustled  about,  here  and  there,  making-  the  necessary 
preparations.  Several  pigs  and  chickens  had  gone  the 
way  of  all  flesh,  and  were  baking  and  stewing  for  the 
table.  About  once  a  quarter  "  Old  Stub  "  "  moistened 
his  clay,"  as  he  called  it,  with  a  little  "rye,"  so  as  to 
"  keep  his  blood  a-stirring."  Mrs.  "  Stub  Bulliphant  " 
was  busy  too.  'She  was  a  perfect  whirlwind  ;  her 
temper  was  made  of  tartaric  acid.  Her  voice  might  be 
heard  above  the  confusion  around  giving  directions  to 
one,  and  a  "  piece  of  her  mind  "  to  another.  She  was 
the  landlady  of  the  Eagle  beyond  all  doubt,  and  no  one 
else.  Better  die  than  doubt  that. 

"  Bulliphant !  "  screamed  she,  at  the  top  of  her  lungs, 
"  Bulliphant,  you  great  lout,  you  !  what  in  the  name  of 
massy  sakes  are  you  about  ?  No  fire  !  no  wood  !  no 
water  in  !  How,  in  all  created  natur,  do  you  s'pose  a 
woman  can  get  dinner  ?  Furiation  alive,  why  don't  you 
speak?  Sally  Ann  I  I  say,  Sally  Ann!  come  right  here 
this  minute  !  Go  down  cellar,  arid  get  a  jug  of  butter, 
some  milk,  and  then  —  I  say,  Sally  Ann  !  —  do  you  hear 
me,  Sally  Ann  ?  —  go  out  to  the  barn  and  —  run  !  run  ! 
you  careless  hussy,  to  the  stove  !  the  pot's  boiling 
over  !  " 

And  so  the  old  woman's  tongue  ran  on  hour  after  hour. 


HUMOItS    OF   THE    WEST.  37 

At  a  little  past  one,  the  court  was  convened.  A 
board  placed  upon  two  barrels  across  the  corner  of  the 
room,  constituted  the  desk  of  Squire  Longbow,  behind 
which  his  honor's  solitary  dignity  was  caged.  Petti- 
foggers and  spectators  sat  outside.  This  was  very 
proper,  as  Squire  Longbow  was  a  great  man,  and  some 
mark  of  distinction  was  due.  Permit  me  to  describe 
him.  He  was  a  little,  pot-bellied  person,  with  a  round 
face,  bald  head,  swelled  nose,  and  had  only  one  eye,  the 
remains  of  the  other  being  concealed  with  a  green  shade. 
He  carried  a  dignity  about  him  that  was  really  oppres- 
sive to  bystanders.  He  was  the  "  end  of  the  law  "  in 
Puddleford  ;  and  no  man  could  sustain  a  reputation  who 
presumed  to  appeal  from  his  decisions.  He  settled  ac- 
counts, difficulties  af  all  sorts,  and  even  established  land- 
titles  ;  but  of  all  things,  he  prided  himself  upon  his 
knowledge  of  constitutional  questions.  The  Squire 
always  maintained  that  hard  drinking  was  "  agin  "  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States,  "  and  so,"  he  said, 
"  Judge  Story  once  informed  him  by  letter  when  he  ap- 
plied to  him  for  aid  in  solving  this  question."  "  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  slander,"  the  Squire  used  to  say, 
"  and  so  he  had  always  decided,  as  every  person  who 
lied  about  another,  knew  he  ought  not  to  be  believed, 
because  he  was  lying,  and  therefore  the  '  quar-animer ,' 
as  the  books  say,  is  wanting."  (This  looked  rather  bad 
for  "  Filkins's  "  case.)  Sometimes  Squire  Longbow  ren- 
dered judgments,  sometimes  decrees,  and  sometimes  he 
divided  the  cause  between  both  parties.  The  Squire  said 
he  "  never  could  submit  to  the  letter  of  the  law  ;  it  was 
agin7  personal  liberty  ;  and  so  Judge  Story  decided." 
"  Pre-ce-dents,  as  they  were  called,  he  wouldn't  mind, 


38  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

not  even  his  own  ;  because  then  there  wouldn't  be  any 
room  left  for  a  man  to  change  his  mind.  If,"  said  the 
Squire,  "  for  instance,  I  fine  Pet.  Sykes  to-day  for  knock- 
ing down  Job  Bluff,  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  fine 
Job  Bluff  to-morrow  for  knocking  down  Pet.  Sykes.  be- 
cause they  are  entirely  different  persons.  Human  natur' 
ain't  the  same."  "  Contempt  of  court,"  the  Squire 
often ,  declared,  "was  the  worst  of  all  offences.  lie 
didn't  care  so  much  about  what  might  be  said  agin'  Jona- 
than Longbow,  but  Squire  Longbow,  Justice  of  the 
Peace,  must  and  should  be  protected  ;  "  and  it  was  upon 
this  principle  that  he  fined  Phil.  Beardsley  ten  dollars  for 
contradicting  him  in  the  street. 

"  Generally,"  the  Squire  says,  "  he  renders  judgment 
for  the  plaintiff,"  because  he  never  issues  a  process  with- 
out hearing  his  story,  and  determining  the  merits.  "  And 
don't  the  plaintiff  know  more  about  his  rights  than  all 
the  witnesses  in  the  world  ?  "  "  And  even  where  he  has 
a  jury,"  the  Squire  says,  "that  it  is  his  duty  to  apply 
the  law  to  the  facts,  and  the  facts  to  the  law,  so  that 
they  may  avoid  any  illegal  verdict." 

The  court,  as  I  said,  was  convened.  The  Squire  took 
his  seat,  opened  his  docket,  and  lit  his  pipe.  lie  then 
called  the  parties  :  — 

"  Philista  Filkins  !  "    "  Charity  Beadle  !  " 

"Here,"  cried  a  backwoods  pettifogger,  "I'm  for 
Philista  Filkiris  ;  am  always  on  hand  at  the  tap  of  the 
drum,  like  a  thousand  of  brick." 

This  man  was  a  character  ;  a  pure  specimen  of  a  live 
western  pettifogger.  He  was  called  Ike  Turtle.  He  was 
of  the  snapping-turtle  breed.  He  wore  a  white  wool-hat ; 
a  bandana  cotton-handkerchief  around  his  neck  ;  a  horse- 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  39 

blanket  vest,  with  large  born-buttons  ;  and  corduroy  pan- 
taloons ;  and  he  carried  a  bull's-eye  watch,  from  which 
swung*  four  or  five  chains  across  his  breast. 

"  Who  answers  for  Charity  Beadle  ?  "  continued  the 
Squire. 

"I  answer  for  myself,"  squeaked  out  Charity;  "I 
hain't  got  any  counsel,  'cause  he's  on  the  jury." 

"  On  the  jury,  ha  !  Your  counsel's  on  the  jury  !  Sile 
Bates,  I  suppose.  Counsel  is  guaranteed  by  the  Con- 
stitution—  it's  a  personal  right  —  let  Sile  act  as  your 
counsel,  then. 

And  so  Sile  stepped  .out  in  the  capacity  of  counsel. 

"  Charity  Beadle  !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire,  drawing  out 
his  pipe  and  laying  it  on  his  desk,  "  stand  up  and  raise 
your  right  hand  ! " 

Charity  arose. 

"  You  are  charged  with  slandering  Philista  Filkins, 
with  saying,  '  She  warn't  no  better  than  she  ought  to 
be  ; '  and  if  you  were  believed  when  you  said  so,  it  is 
my  duty,  as  a  peace-officer,  to  say  to  you  that  you  have 
been  guilty  of  a  high  offence,  and  may  the  Lord  have 
rnercy  on  your  soul.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Not  guilty,  Squire  Longbow,  by  an  eternal  sight,  and 
told  the  truth,  if  we  are,"  replied  Bates.  "  Besides,  we 
plead  a  set-off." 

"  I  say  'tis  false  !  you  are  !  "  cried  Philista,  at  the  top 
of  her  lungs. 

"Silence!"  roared  Longbow;  "the  dignity  of  this 
court  shall  be  preserved." 

"  Easy,  Squire,  a  little  easy,"  grumbled  a  voice  in  the 
crowd,  proceeding  from  one  of  Philista's  friends  ;  "  never 
speak  to  a  woman  in  a  passion." 


40  THE  PUDDLEFORD     PAPERS,    OR 

"I  fine  that  man  one  dollar  for  contempt  of  court, 
whoever  he  is  I  "  exclaimed  the  Squire,  as  he  stood  upon 
tiptoe,  trying  to  catch  the  offender  with  his  eye. 

"I  guess  'twarn't  nothing  but  the  wind/'  said  Bates. 

The  Squire  took  his  seat,  put  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  blew  out  a  long  whiff  of  smoke. 

"  Order  being  restored,  let  the  case  now  proceed/7  he 
exclaimed. 

Ike  opened  his  case  to  the  jury.  He  said  Philista 
Filkins  was  a  maiden  lady  of  about  forty  ;  some  called 
her  an  old  maid,  but  that  warn't  so,  not  by  several  years ; 
her  teeth  were  as  sound  as  a  nut,  and  her  hair  as  black 
as  a  crow.  She  was  a  nurse,  and  had  probably  given 
more  lobelia,  pennyroyal,  catnip,  and  other  roots  and 
herbs,  to  the  people  of  Puddleford,  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
women  in  it.  Of  course  she  was  a  kind  of  peramrulary 
being.  (The  Squire  here  informed  the  jury  thatperara- 
rulary  was  a  legal  word,  which  he  would  fully  explain  in 
his  charge.)  That  is,  she  was  obliged  to  be  out  a  great 
deal,  night  and  day,  and  in  consequence  thereof,  Charity 
Beadle  had  slandered  her,  and  completely  ruined  her  rep- 
utation, and  broken  up  her  business  to  the  damage  of  ten 
dollars. 

Bates  told  the  court  that  he  had  "  no  jurisdiction  in  an 
action  of  slander." 

Longbow  advised  Bates  not  to  repeat  the  remark,  as 
"  that  was  a  kind  of  contempt/' 

Some  time  had  elapsed  in  settling  preliminaries,  and  at 
last  the  cause  was  ready. 

"  We  call  Soriora  Brown  !  "  roared  out  Ike,  at  the  top 
of  his  lungs. 

"  Xo,  you  don't/'  replied  the  Squire.     "  This  court  is 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  41 

adjourned  for  fifteen  minutes  ;  all  who  need  refreshment 
will  find  it  at  the  bar  in  the  next  room  ;  but  don't  bring 
it  in  here  ;  it  might  be  agin'  the  statute." 

And  so  the  court  adjourned  for  fifteen  minutes. 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  bar-room,  and  old  Stub  Bulli- 
phant  rolled  around  among  his  whiskey  bottles  like  a  ship 
in  a  storm.  Almost  every  person  drank  some,  judging 
from  the  remarks,  "  to  wet  their  whistle;7'  others,  "to 
keep  their  stomach  easy ;  "  some  "  to  Filkins ;  "  others, 
"to  Beadle,"  etc.,  etc. 

Court  was  at  last  convened  again. 

"  Sonora  Brown  !  "  roared  Ike  again. 

"  Object  1  "  exclaimed  Sile  ;  "no  witness  ;  hain't 
lived  six  months  in  the  state." 

Squire  Longbow  slowly  drew  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor  in  deep  thought  for  several 
minutes. 

"  Hain't  lived  six  months  in  the  state,"  repeated  he, 
at  last ;  "  ain't  no  resident,  of  course,  under  our  Con- 
stitution." 

"  And  how,  in  all  created  airth,  would  you  punish  such 
a  person  for  perjury?  I  should  just  like  to  know,"  con- 
tinued Sile,  taking  courage  from  the  Squire's  perplexed 
state  of  mind;  "our  laws  don't  bind  residents  of  other 
states." 

"  But  it  isn't  certain  Mrs.  Brown  will  lie,  because  she 
is  a  non-resident,"  added  the  Squire,  cheering  up  a 
little. 

"  Well,  very  well,  then,"  said  Sile,  ramming  both 
hands  into  his  breeches-pocket  very  philosophically  ;  "go 
ahead,  if  you  wish,  subject  to  my  objection.  I'll  just 
appeal*  and  blow  this  court  into  fiddle-strings  !  This 


42  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

cause  won't  breathe  three  times  in  the  circuit!  We 
won't  be  rode  over ;.  we  know  our  rights,  I  just  kinder 
rather  think." 

"  Go  it,  Sile  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  the  crowd  ;  "  stand 
up  for  your  rights,  if  you  bust!  " 

"  Silence  !  "  exclaimed  Squire  Longbow. 

Ike  had  sat  very  quietly,  inasmuch  as  the  Squire  had 
been  leaning  in  his  favor  ;  but  Site's  last  remark  some- 
what intimidated  his  honor. 

"May  it  please  your  honor,"  said  Ike,  rising,  "we 
claim  there  is  no  proof  of  Mrs.  Brown's  residency  ;  your 
honor  hain't  got  nothing  but  Sile  Bates's  say  so,  and 
what's  that  good  for  in  a  court  of  justice  ?  I  wouldn't 
believe  him  as  far  as  you  could  swing  a  cat  by  the  tail." 

"  I'm  with  you  on  that,"  cried  another  voice. 

"  Silence  !  put  that  man  out !  "  roared  Longbow  again. 

But  just  as  Ike  was  sitting  down,  an  inkstand  was 
hurled  at  him  by  Sile,  which  struck  him  on  his  shoulder, 
and  scattered  its  contents  over  the  crowd.  Several  mis- 
siles flew  back  and  forth  ;  the  Squire  leaped  over  his 
table,  crying  out  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  — 

"In  the  name  of  the  people  of  the  State  of ,  I, 

Jonathan  Longbow,  Justice  of  the  Peace,  duly  elected 
and  qualified,  do  command  you." 

When,  at  last,  order  was  restored,  the  counsel  took 
their  seats,  and  the  Squire  retired  into  his  box  again. 

Sonora  Brown  was  then  called  for  the  third  time.  She 
was  an  old  lady,  with  a  pinched-up  black  bonnet,  a  very 
wide  ruffle  to  her  cap,  through  which  the  gray  hairs 
strayed.  She  sighed  frequently  and  heavily.  She  said 
she  didn't  know  as  she  knew  "anything  worth  telling 
on."  She  didn't  know  "  anything  about  lawsuits,  and 


THE   JUSTICE'S   COURT   OF    PUDDLEFORD. 

The  testimony  of  Sonora  Brown,  the  witness  who  "  didn't  know  anything  worth 
tellin'  on  ;  "  and  who  "  warn't  used  to  lawsuits,  and  didn't  know  how  to  swear." — 
Page  42. 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  43 

didn't  know  how  to  swear/'  After  running"  on  with  a 
long  preliminary  about  herself,  growing  warmer  and 
warmer,  the  old  lady  came  to  the  case  under  much  ex- 
citement. She  said  "  she  never  did  see  such  works  in 
all  her  born  days.  Just  because  Charity  Beadle  said 
'  Philista  Filkins  warn't  no  better  than  she  ought  to  be/ 
there  was  such  a  hullabalu  and  kick-up,  enough  to  set  all 
natur  crazy !  " 

"  Why  la  !  sus  me  !  "  continued  she,  turning  round  to 
the  Squire,  "  do  you  think  this  such  a  dre'ful  thing,  that 
all  the  whole  town  has  got  to  be  set  together  by  the 
ears  about  it  ?  Mude-ra-tion  !  what  a  humdrum  and 
flurry !  " 

And  then  the  old  lady  stopped  and  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  pushed  it  up  very  hard  and  quick  into  her  nose. 

Ike  requested  Mrs.  Brown  not  to  talk  so  fast,  and  only 
answer  such  questions  as  he  put  to  her. 

"  Well,  now,  that's  nice/'  she  continued.  "  Warri't  I 
sworn,  or  was't  you  ?  and  to  tell  the  truth,  too,  and  the 
whole  truth.  I  warn't  sworn  to  answer  your  questions. 
Why,  may-be,  you  don't  know,  Mr.  Pettifogger,  that 
there  are  folks  in  state's  prison  now  for  lying  in  a  court 
of  justice  ?  " 

Squire  Longbow  interfered,  and  stated  that  "  he  must 
say  that  things  were  going  on  very  '  promis'cusly/  quite 
agin  the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  state." 

"Just  so  I  think  myself/1  added  Mrs.  Brown.  "This 
place  is  like  a  town-meeting,  for  all  the  world." 

"  Mrs.  So-no-ra  Brown  !  "  exclaimed  Ike,  rising  on  his 
feet,  a  little  enraged;  "  do  you  know  anything  about 
what  Chanty  Beadle  said  about  Philista  Filkins  ?  Answer 
this  question." 


44  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

"  Whew  !  fiddle-de-dee  !  highty-tighty  !  so  you  have 
really  broke  loose,  Mr.  Pettifogger/'  for  now  the  old 
lady's  temper  was  up.  "  Why,  didn't  you  know  I  was 
old  enough  to  be  your  grandmother  ?  Why,  my  boy," 
continued  she,  hurrying  on  her  spectacles,  and  taking  a 
long  look  at  Ike,  "  I  know'd  your  mother  when  she  made 
cakes  and  pies  down  in  the  Jar&eys  ;  and  you  when  you 
warn't  more  than  so  high  ;  "  and  she  measured  about 
two  feet  high  from  the  floor.  "  You  want  me  to  answer, 
do  you  ?  I  told  you  all  I  kriow'd  about  it ;  and  if  you 
want  anything  more,  I  guess  you'll  have  to  get  it,  that's 
all  ;  "  and,  jumping  up,  she  left  the  witness-stand,  and 
disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

"  I  demand  an  attachment  for  Sonora  Brown  ! "  roared 
out  Ike,  "  an  absconding  witness  !  " 

"  Can't  do  it,"  replied  the  Squire  ;  "  it's  agin  the 
Constitution  to  deprive  anybody  of  their  liberty  an  un- 
reasonable length  of  time.  This  witness  has  been  con- 
fined here  by  process  of  law  morn-a-nour.  Can't  do  it ! 
Be  guilty  of  trespass  !  Must  stick  to  the  Constitution. 
Call  your  next  witness." 

Ike  swore.  The  Squire  fined  him  one  dollar.  lie 
swore  again.  The  Squire  fined  him  another.  The  faster 
the  Squire  fined,  the  faster  the  oaths  rolled  out  of  Ike's 
mouth,  until  the  Squire  had  entered  ten  dollars  against 
him.  Ike  swore  again,  and  the  Squire  was  about  to 
record  the  eleventh  dollar,  but  Ike  checked  him. 

"  Hold  on  !  hold  on  !  you  old  reprobate!  now  I've  got 
you  !  now  you  are  mine  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  You  are 
up  to  the  limit  of  the  law  !  You  cannot  inflict  only  ten 
dollars  in  fines  in  any  one  case !  Now  stand  and 
take  it!" 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  45 

And  such  a  volley  of  oaths,  cant  phrases,  humor, 
wrath,  sarcasm,  and  fun,  sometimes  addressed  to  the 
Squire,  sometimes  to  the  audience,  and  sometimes  to  his 
client,  never  rolled  out  of  any  other  man's  mouth  since 
the  flood,  lie  commenced  with  the  history  of . the  Squire, 
when,  as  he  said,  "he  was  a  rafting1  lumber  down  on  the 
Susque/ianna  ; "  and  he  followed  him  up  from  that  time. 
"  He  could  tell  the  reason  why  he  came  west,  but 
wouldn't."  He  commented  on  his  personal  appearance, 
and  his  capacity  for  the  office  of  justice.  He  told  him 
"  he  hadn't  only  one  e}7e,  any  way,  and  he  couldn't 
be  expected  to  see  a  great  way  into  a  mill-stone  ;  arid  he 
didn't  believe  he  had  as  many  brains  as  an  'ister.  For 
his  part,  he  knew  the  law  ;  he  had  ransacked  every  part 
of  the  statute,  as  a  glutton  would  Noah's  Ark  for  the 
remnant  of  an  eel ;  he  had  digested  it  from  Dan  to 
Beersheba  ;  swallowed  everything  but  the  title-page  and 
cover,  and  would  have  swallowed  that  if  he  warn't 
mortal ;  he  was  a  living,  moving  law  himself ;  when  he 
said  '  law  was  law,  'twas  law  ;  ;  better  ;peal  anything  up 
from  predestination  than  from  his  opinion  !  he  would  fol- 
low this  case  to  the  backside  of  sundown  for  his  rights  !  " 

During  all  this  time  there  was  a  complete  uproar. 
Philista's  friends  cheered  and  hurrahed ;  the  dogs  in  the 
room  set  up  their  barking ;  Beadle's  friends  groaned, 
and  squealed,  and  bellowed,  and  whimpered,  and  imitated 
all  the  domestic  animals  of  the  day,  while  the  Squire  was 
trying  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  to  compel  the  constable  to 
commit  Ike  for  contempt. 

Ike  closed  and  sat  down.  The  Squire  called  for  the 
constable,  but  he  was  not  to  be  found.  One  man  told 
him  that  "  he  was  in  the  next  room  pitching  coppers  ;  " 


46  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

another,  that  the  last  time  he  saw  him  "he  was  running 
very  fast ;  "  another,  that  "  he  rather  guessed  he'd  be 
back  some  time  another,  if  he  ever  was,  because  he  was 
a  sworn  officer  ;  "  another  asked  the  Squire  "  what  he'd 
give  to  have  him  catched f"  but  no  constable  appeared; 
he  had  put  himself  out  the  way  to  escape  the  storm. 

A  long  silence  followed  this  outburst ;  not  a  word  was 
said,  and  scarcely  a  noise  heard.  Every  one  was  eagerly 
looking  at  the  Squire  for  his  next  movement.  Ike  kept 
his  eyes  on  the  floor,  apparently  in  a  deep  study.  At 
last  he  arose. 

"  Squire, "  said  he,  "  we've  been  under  something  of  a 
press  of  steam  for  the  last  half  'our  ;  I  move  we  adjourn 
fifteen  minutes  for  a  drink." 

"  Done,"  answered  the  Squire  ;  and  so  the  court  ad- 
journed for  a  second  time. 

It  was  now  nearly  dark,  when  the  court  convened 
again.  The  trial  of  the  cause,  Filkiris  vs.  Beadle,  was 
resumed.. 

Seth  Bolles  was  called.  Seth  was  a  broad-backed, 
double-fisted  fellow,  with  a  blazing  red  face,  and  he 
chewed  tobacco  continually.  He  was  about  two  thirds 
"  over  the  bay,"  and  didn't  care  for  all  the  Filkinses  or 
Beadles  in  the  world. 

"Know  Filkins  and  Beadle?"  inquired  Ike. 

"  Know  'em  ?  thunder,  yes." 

"  How  long?" 

"  Ever  sin'  the  year  one." 

"  Ever  heard  Beadle  say  anything  about  Filkins  ?  " 

"  Heard  her  say  she  thought  she  run'd  too  much  arter 
Elik  Timberlake." 

"  Anything,  Seth,  about  Filkins'  character  ?  " 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  47 

"  Now  what  do  you  'spose  I  know  about  Filkins' 
character  ?  Much  as  I  can  do  to  look  arter  my  own 
wirnmin." 

"  But  have  you  heard  Beadle  say  anything  about  Fil- 
kins'  character  ?  " 

"  Heard  her  say  once  she  was  a  good  enough-er-sort-a 
body  when  she  was  a-mind-er-be.'7 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Shan't  answer  ;  hain't  had  my  regular  fees  paid  as 
witness." 

Squire  Longbow  informed  Seth  that  he  must  answer. 

"  Shan't  do  it,  not  so  long  as  my  name  is  Bolles." 

The  Squire  said  he  would  commit  him. 

"  W-h-e-w  !  ?'  drawled  out  Bolies,  stooping  down,  and 
putting  his  arms  a-kimbo,  as  he  gave  the  Squire  a  long 
look  straight  in  the  eye. 

"  Order  !  order  1  "  exclaimed  the  Squire. 

"Whew!  whew!  whew  uo-uo-uo!  who's  afraid  of  a 
justice  of  the  peace  ?  "  screamed  Seth,  jumping  up 
about  a  foot,  and  squirting  out  a  gill  of  tobacco-juice,  as 
he  struck  the  floor. 

Seth's  fees  were  paid  him,  at  last,  and  the  question 
was  again  put,  if  he  heard  "  BeadFe  say  anything  else  ?  " 
and  he  said  *'  he  never  did ;  "  and  thus  ended  Seth's 
testimony. 

Miss  Eunice  Grimes  was  next  called.  She  came  sail- 
ing forward,  and  threw  herself  into  the  chair  with  a 
kind  of  jerk.  She  took  a  few  sidelong  glances  at 
Charity  Beadle,  which  told,  plainly  enough,  that  she 
meant  to  make  a  finish  of  her  in  about  five  minutes. 
She  was  a  vinegar-faced  old  maid,  and  her  head  kept 
bobbing,  and  her  body  kept  hitching,  and  now  she 


48       THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

pulled  her  bonnet  this  way,  and  now  that.  She  finally 
went  out  of  the  fretting  into  the  languishing-  rnood,  and 
declared  she  "  should  die  if  somebody  didn't  get  her  a 
glass  of  water/' 

When  she  became  composed,  Ike  inquired  if  "  she 
knew  Charity  Beadle  ?  '' 

"  Yes  !  I  know  her  to  be  an  orful  critter  !  " 

"  What  has  she  done  ?  " 

"  What  hain't  she  ?  She's  lied  about  me,  and  about 
Elder  Dobbin's  folfcs,  and  said  how  that  when  the  sing- 
ing-rnaster  boarded  at  our  house,  she  seed  lights  in  the 
sitting-room  till  past  three  - — the  orful  critter  I  " 

"  But  what  have  you  heard  her  say  about  Philista 
Filkins  ?  " 

"01  everything  that's  bad.  She  don't  never  say 
anything  that's  good  'bout  nobody.  She's  allers  talking. 
There  ain't  nobody  in  the  settlement  she  hain't  slandered. 
She  even  abused  old  Deacon  Snipes'  horse  —  the  orful 
critter  ! " 

"But  what  did  she  say  about  Philista  Filkins ?"  re- 
peated Ike  again. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  she  said?  I  hain't 
got  any  doubt  she's  called  her  everything  she  could 
think  on.  Didn't  she,  Philinty?"  she  continued,  turn- 
ing her  head  towards  the  plaintiff. 

Philista  nodded. 

"  Did  she  say  she  warn't  no  better  than  she  ought 
to  be  ?  " 

"Did  she  ?  well,  she  did,  and  that  very  few  people 
were." 

"  Stop  !  stop  !  "  exclaimed  Ike,  "  you  talk  too  fast !  I 
guess  she  didn't  say  all  that." 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  49 

"  She  did,  for  Philista  told  me  so  ;  and  she  wouldn't 
lie  for  the  whole  race  of  Beadles." 

Squire  Longbow  thought  Eunice  had  better  retire,  as 
she  didn't  seem  to  know  much  about  the  case. 

She  said  she  knew  as  much  about  it  as  anybody  ;  she 
want  "  going  to  be  abused,  trod  upon  ;  and  no  man  was 
a  man  that  would  insult  a  poor  woman  ;  "  and  bursting 
into  tears  of  rage,  she  twitched  out  of  her  chair,  and 
went  sobbing  away. 

Philista  closed,  and  Sile  stated,  in  4us  opening  to  the 
court  on  the  part  of  the  defence,  that  this  was  a  "little 
the  smallest  case  he  ever  had  seen/7  His  client  stood 
out  high  and  dry  ;  she  stood  up  like  Andes  looking  down 
on  a  potato-hill  ;  he  didn't  propose  to  offer  scarcely  any 
proof;  and  that  little  was  by  way  of  set-off — tongue 
against  tongue  —  according  to  the  statute  in  such  case 
made  and  provided  ;  he  hoped  the  court  would  examine 
the  law  for  himself.  (Here  Sile  unrolled  a  long  account 
against  Philista,  measuring  some  three  feet,  and  held  it 
up  to  the  Squire  and  jury.)  This,  he  said,  was  a  regular 
statement  of  the  slanderous  words  used  by  Philista  Fil- 
kins  agin  Charity  Beadle  for  the  last  three  years,  with  the 
damage  annexed  ;  everything  had  been  itemized,  and 
kept  in  tip-top  style  ;  all  in  black  and  white,  just  as  it 
happened.  Sile  was  about  reading  this  formidable  in- 
strument, when  Ike  objected. 

11  That  can't  be  did  in  this  'ere  court  !  "  exclaimed 
Ike;  "  the  light  of  civilization  has  shed  itself  a  little  too 
thick  for  that.  This  court  might  just  as  well  try  to 
swallow  a  chestnut-burr,  or  a  cat,  tail  foremost,  as  to  get 
such  a  proposition  a-down  its  throat." 
4 


f)0  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Squire  Longbow  said  he'd  "  never  heer'd  of  such  law 
—  yet  the  question  was  new  to  him." 

"  I /ii« I  down  in  all  the  law-books  of  the  nineteenth 
rerun  ry  !  "  exclaimed  Silc,  "  and  never  heard  ori't  !  " 

"  Never  did." 

"  \Vliy,"  continued  Sile,  "the  statute  allows  set-off 
where  it  is  of  the  same  natur  of  the  action.  This,  you 
Bee,  is  slander  agin  slander." 

"  True,"  replied  the  Squire. 

"  True,  did  youisay  !  "  exclaimed  Ike.  "  You  say  the 
statute  (Joes  allow  slander  to  be  set  off;  our  statute  — 
that  statute  that  I  learned  by  heart  before  I  knew  my 
A  H  (J's  —  3*011  old  bass-wood  headed  son  —  "  But  the 
Squire  c* topped  Ike  just  at  this  time.  "  We  will  decide 
the  question  first,"  he  said.  "  The  court  have  made  no 
decision  yet." 

Squire  Longbow  was  in  trouble.  He  smoked  furiously, 
lie  examined  the  statutes,  looked  over  his  docket,  but  he 
did  not  seem  to  get  any  light.  Finally,  a  lucky  thought 
struck  him.  lie  saw  old  Mr.  Brown  in  the  crowd,  who 
had  the  reputation  of  having  once  been  a  justice  in  the 
Stale  of  New  York.  The  Squire  arose  and  beckoned  to 
him,  and  both  retired  to  an  adjoining  room.  After  about 
a  half  an  hour,  the  Squire  returned  and  took  his  seat,  and 
delivered  his  opinion.  Here  it  is  :  — 

"  After  an  examination  of  all  the  p'ints  both  for  and 

the  'lowing  of  the  set-off,  in  which  the  court  didn't 

1  no  stone  unturned  to  get  at  justice,  having  ran- 

1   s> ime  half  a  dozen  books  from  eend  to  eend,  and 

;  duwn  everything  that  anywise  bore  on  the  subject; 

Meeting,  as  the  court  well  doz,  what  the  great  Story, 

who's  now  dead  and  gone,  done  and  writ  'bout  this  very 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  51 

thing  (for  we  must  be  'lowed  to  inform  this  'sembly  that 
we  read  Story  in  our  juvenil'  years)  ;  having-  done  this, 
and  refreshing  our  minds  with  the  testimony,  and  keep- 
ing in  our  eye  the  rights  of  parties  —  right-er  liberty, 
and  right-er  speech,  Tback'ards  and  forwards  —  for  I've 
as  good  a  right  to  talk  agin  you,  as  you  have  to  talk 
agin  me  —  knowing,  as  the  court  doz,  how  much  blood 
has  been  shed  'cause  folks  wern't  'lowed  to  talk  as  much 
as  they  pleased,  making  all  natur  groan,  the  court  is  of 
the  opinion  that  the  set-off  must  be  let  in  ;  and  such  is  also 
Squire  Brown's  opinion, -and  nobody  will  contradict  that, 
I know."  - 

11  Je-/ios-a-phat  !  "  groaned  out  Ike,  drawing  one  of  his 
very  longest  breaths.  "  The  great  Je-m?'-ina  Wilkinson  ! 
arid  so  that  is  law,  arter  all !  There's  my  hat,  Squire," 
Ike  continued,  as  he  arose  and  reached  it  out  to  him  ; 
"  and  you  shall  have  my  gallusses  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
at  'em." 

The  Squire  said  "the  dignity  of  the  court  must  be 
preserved." 

"  Of  course  it  must !  of  course  it  must  I  "  replied  Ike, 
who  was  growing  very  philosophical  over  the  opinion 
of  the  Squire  ;  "  there  ain't  no  friction  on  my  gudgeons 
now ;  I  always  gins  in  to  reg'lar  opinions,  delivered  upon 
consideration  ;  I  was  just  thinking,  though,  Squire,  that 
as  their  bill  is  so  much  the  longest,  and  as  the  parties  are 
both  here,  Charity  had  better  let  her  tongue  loose  upon 
my  client,  and  take  out  the  balance  on  the  spot." 

The  Squire  said  "  the  cause  must  go  on."  Sile  read  his 
set-off,  made  up  of  slanderous  words  alleged  to  have  been 
used  ;  damages  fifty  dollars  ;  and  calling  Charity  herself, 
upon  the  principle,  as  he  said,  "that  it  was  a  book- 


52  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

account,  and  her  books  were  evidence  ;  and  her  books 
having  been  lost,  the  paper  which  he  held,  arid  which 
was  a  true  copy — for  he  made  it  out  himself — was  the 
next  best  evidence  ;  all  of  which  Charity  would  swear  to 
straight  along. Jy 

The  court  admitted  Charity,  and  she  swore  the  set-off 
through,  and  some  fifty  dollars  more  ;  and  she  was  going 
on  horse-race  speed,  when  Sile  stopped  her  "  before/7  as 
he  told  her,  "  she  swore  the  cause  beyond  the  jurisdiction 
of  a  magistrate/7 

Here  the  evidence  closed.  Midnight  had  set  in,  and 
the  cause  was  yet  to  be  summed  up. 

The  court  informed  Ike  and  Sile  that  they  were  limited 
to  half  an  hour  each. 

Ike  opened  the  argument,  and  such  an  opening,  and 
such  an  argument !  It  will  not  be  expected  that  I  can 
repeat  it.  There  never  lived  a  man  who  could.  It 
covered  all  things  mortal  and  immortal.  Genius,  and 
sense,  and  nonsense  ;  wit,  humor,  pathos,  venom,  and 
vulgarity,  were  all  piled  up  together,  and  belched  forth 
upon  the  jury.  lie  talked  about  the  case,  the  court,  the 
jury,  his  client,  the  history  of  the  world,  and  Puddleford 
in  particular.  "  The  slander  was  admitted/7  he  declared, 
"  because  the  defendant  had  tried  to  set  off  something 
agin  it ;  and  if  his  client  didn't  get  a  judgment,  he'd 
make  a  rattling  among  the  dry  bones  of  the  law,  that 
would  rouse  the  dead  of  776 ! 77  lie  was  "fifty  feet 
front,  and  rear  to  the  river;  "  "had  seen  great  changes 
on  the  t'restial  globe  ;  "  "  kriow'd  all  the  sciences  from 
Neb-u-cwe?-nezzar  down  ;  77  "  know'd  law  —  'twas  the  rnilk 
of  his  existence.77  As  to  the  court's  opinion  about  the 
set-off,  "  his  head  was  chock  full  of  cobwebs  or  bumble- 


HUMORS    OF   THE   WEST.  53 

bees,  he  didn't  know  which  ;  "  "  his  judgment  warn't 
hardly  safe  on  a  common  note  er-hand  ;  "  "  he'd  no 
doubt  but  that  three  jist  such  cases  would  run  him  stark 
mad  ;  "  "Natur  was  sorry  she'd  ever  had  anything  to  do 
with  him  ;  and  he'd  himself  been  sorry  ever  since  ;  and 
as  for  education,  he  warn't  up  to  the  school-marm,  for  she 
could  read  ;  "  "  the  jury  had  better  give  him  a  verdict 
if  they  didn't  want  the  nightmare."  And  thus  he  was 
running  on,  when  his  half  hour  expired,  but  he  could 
not  be  stopped  —  as  well  stop  a  tornado.  So  Sile  arose, 
and  commenced  his  argument  for  the  defendant  ;  and  at 
it  both  labored,  Ike  for  plaintiff,  Sile  for  defendant,  until 
the  court  swore  a  constable,  arid  ordered  the  jury  to 
retire  with  him,  the  argument  still  going  on  ;  and  thus 
the  jury  left  the  room,  Ike  and  Sile  following  them  up, 
laying  down  the  law  and  the  fact ;  and  the  last  thing  I 
observed  just  before  the  door  closed,  was  Ike's  arm  run 
through  it  at  us,  going  through  a  variety  of  gestures,  his 
expiring  effort  in  behalf  of  his  client. 

After  a  long  deliberation  among  the  jurors,  during 
which  almost  everything  was  discussed  but  the  evi- 
dence, it  was  announced  by  our  foreman,  on  "  coming 
in,"  that  a  we  could  not  agree,  four  on  'em  being  for  fifty 
dollars  for  the  defendant  'cording  to  law,  and  one  on  'em 
for  no  cause  of  action  (myself),  and  he  stood  out,  'cause 
he  was  a- feared,  or  wanted  to  be  pop'lar  with  some- 
body." 

And  thus  ended  the  trial  between  Filkins  and  Beadle. 


54  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  III. 

Wanderings   in  the   Wilderness.  —  A  Bee-Hunt.  —  Sunrise.  —  The 
Fox-Squirrel.  — The  Blue-Jay.  — The  Gopher.  — The  Partridges. 

—  Wild  Geese,  Ducks,    and  Cranes. — Blackbirds  and  Meadow- 
Larks. —  Venison's  Account  of  the  Bees'  Domestic  Economy.  — 
How  Venison  found  what  he  was  in  Search  of.  —  Honey  Secured. 

—  After  Reflections. 

T7ENISON  STYLES  and  myself,  as  I  have  stated,  had 
J  now  become  intimate.  Together  we  scoured  the 
woods  and  streams,  in  pursuit  of  fish  and  game.  There 
was  a  kind  of  rustic  poetry  about  the  old  man  that  fasci- 
nated my  soul.  His  thoughts  and  feelings  had  been 
drawn  from  nature,  and  there  was  a  strange  freshness  and 
life  about  everything  he  said  and  did.  He  was  as  firm 
and  fiery  as  a  flint  ;  and  the  sparks  struck  out  of  him 
were  as  beautiful.  Winds  and  storms,  morn's  early 
dawn,  the  hush  of  evening,  the  seasons  and  all  their 
changes,  had  become  a  part  of  him  —  they  had  moulded 
and  kept  him.  They  played  upon  him  like  a  breeze  upon 
a  harp.  How  could  I  help  loving  hirn  ? 

Before  daybreak,  one  morning  in  October,  Venison, 
myself,  his  honey-box,  and  axes,  set  out  "  a  bee-hunting,7' 
as  he  called  it.  It  was  in  the  beautiful  and  inspiring  sea- 
son of  Indian  summer,  a  season  that  lingers  long  and 
lovely  over  the  forests  of  the  west.  There  had  been  a 
hard,  black  frost  during  the  night,  and  the  great  red  sun 


HUMORS   OF   THE   WEST.  55 

rose  upon  it,  shrouded  in  smoke.  We  were  soon  deep  in 
the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  tramping  over  the  fallen 
leaves,  and  pushing  forward  to  where  the  "  bees  were 
thick  a-workin',"  according  to  Venison. 

As  the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  the  leaves  began, 
all  around,  to  thaw,  and  detach  themselves  from  the 
trees,  and  silently  settle  to  the  ground.  There  stood  the 
yellow  walnut,  the  blood-red  maple,  side  by  side  with  the 
green  pine  and  the  spruce.  Ten  thousand  rainbows  were 
interlaced  through  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  now  and 
then  a  sharp  peak  shot  up  its  pile  of  mosaic  into  the  sky. 

Not  a  sound  was  heard  around  us  till  morning's  dawn. 
The  tranquillity  was  oppressive.  The  mighty  wilderness 
was  asleep.  Everything  felt  as  fixed  and  awful  as  eter- 
nity. The  vast  extent  of  the  wooded  waste,  reaching 
thousands  of  miles  beyond,  on,  and  on,  and  on,  filled 
with  mountains,  lakes,  and  streams,  lying  in  solitary 
grandeur,  as  unchanged  as  on  the  day  the  Pyramids  were 
finished,  overwhelmed  the  imagination.  And  then  the 
future  arose  upon  the  mind,  when  all  this  will  be  busy 
with  life  —  when  the  present  will  be  history,  referred  to, 
but  not  remembered  —  when  the  present  population  of 
the  globe  will  have  been  swept  from  the  face  of  it,  and 
another  generation  in  our  place,  playing  with  the  toys 
that  so  long  amused,  and  which  we,  at  last,  left  behind  us. 

But  as  day  dawned,  and  morning  began  to  throw  in 
her  arrows  of  gold  about  our  feet,  the  wilderness  began 
to  wake  up.  A  fox-squirrel  shot  out  from  his  bed  in  a 
hollow  tree,  where  he  had  been  lodging  during  the  night ; 
and  scampering  up  a  tall  maple,  he  sat  himself  down, 
threw  his  tail  over  his  back,  and  broke  forth  with  his 
cliick-chick-cliickaree,  chickaree,  chickaree  !  —  making  the 
woods  ring  with  his  song, 


56  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"Look  at  him,"  exclaimed  Venison  ;  "  he's  as  sassy 
as  ever.  If  I  had  my  rifle,  I'd  knock  the  spots  off  that 
check  coat  of  his'n  ;  I'd  larn  him  to  chickaree  old  Veni- 
son." 

This  squirrel,  very  common  in  some  of  the  north-west- 
ern states,  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  of  its 
species.  lie  is  dressed  in  a  suit  of  light-brown  check, 
and  may  be  seen,  in  warm,  sunny  days,  cantering  over 
the  ground,  or  running  through  the  tree-tops.  He  is  a 
very  careful  and  a  very  busy  body.  I  have  often  watched 
him,  as  he  sat  bolt  upright  in  a  hickory,  eating  nuts,  and 
throwing  the  shucks  on  the  ground,  with  all  the  gravity 
of  a  judge.  During  the  fall,  he  hoards  up  large  quanti- 
ties of  stores.  He  hulls  his  beech-nuts,  selects  the  fair- 
est walnuts,  picks  up,  here  and  there,  a  few  chestnuts, 
and  packs  everything  away  in  his  castle  with  the  utmost 
care;  and,  as  Venison  says,  "the  choppers  in  the  winter 
have  stolen  bushels  on  'era  !  " 

While  our  squirrel  was  singing  his  morning  psalm,  a 
crow,  just  out  of  his  bed,  went  sailing  along  above  us, 
with  his  "caw!  caw!"  and  settled  on  a  tree  nearby. 
"  Caw  1  caw  !  "  he  screamecl  again,  looking  down  curi- 
ously at  the  squirrel,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Who  cares  for 
your  music  !  "  Then  out  hurried  another  squirrel,  and 
another,  breaking  forth  with  joy,  until  the  crow,  fairly 
drowned  out,  spread  his  wings  and  soared  away.  Veni- 
son says,  "  Them  crows  can  smell  gunpowder,  and  that 
fellow  know'd  we  hadn't  any,  when  he  lit  so  near  us." 

A  blue-jay  then  commenced  a  loud  call  from  a  distant 
part  of  the  forest.  He  is  one  of  the  birds  that  lingers 
behind,  and  braves  the  blasts  of  winter.  He  was  flitting 
about  in  a  tree-top,  aud  had  just  commenced  his  day's 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  57 

work.  How  gaudily  Nature  has  dressed  this  bird  !  How 
he  shines,  during  spring  and  summer !  All  the  shades, 
and  touches,  and  tinges  of  blue  flow  over  his  gaudy  man- 
tle ;  and  how  orderly  and  lavishly  they  are  strown  over 
him.  But  the  blue-jay  is  a  dissolute  kind  of  a  fellow, 
after  all  —  "  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  thief,7'  Venison 
says.  His  shadowy  dress  fades  with  the  leaf,  and  after 
strutting  about  during  the  warmer  months,  making  a 
great  display  of  his  finery,  he  "  runs  down,"  at  last,  into 
a  confirmed  loafer.  Groups  of  them  may  be  seen  in  the 
winter,  drudging  around  among  the  withered  bushes,  and 
scolding  like  so  many  shrews. 

Then  out  popped  the  little  gopher,  that  finished  piece 
of  stripe  and  check,  that  miner,  who  digs  deep  in  the 
ground.  He,  too,  had  left  his  mansion,  arid  come  to 
greet  the  morn.  A  troop  of  quail  inarched  along,  headed 
by  their  chief.  Who  does  not  love  the  quail  ?  She  is 
associated  with  early  childhood  and  household  memories. 
Her  voice  rings  through  the  past.  We  heard  it  sound- 
ing over  our  better  years.  What  a  rich  brown  suit  she 
wears,  cut  round  with  Quaker  simplicity  !  what  taste  and 
neatness  about  it !  It  was  she  that  long  ago  went  forth 
with  the  reapers,  and  piped  for  them  her  sunrise  psalm, 
"  More  wet !  More  wet!"  arid  she  will  stay  here  with  us 
during  the  winter,  and  traverse,  with  her  caravan,  all 
day,  the  desert  wastes  of  snow.  Venison  says  he 
"don't  never  kill  a  quail  —  it  ain't  right  —  but  he  don't 
know  why." 

The  partridges,  all  around,  commenced  rolling  their 
drums,  and  every  little  while,  one  would  whirr  past  our 
heads,  and  die  away  in  the  distance.  The  whole  wood- 
pecker family  began  their  labor.  He  who  wears  a  red 


58  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

velvet  cap,  silk  shawl,  and  white  under-clothes,  was  boring1 
away  in  a  rotten  tree,  to  firrd  his  breakfast ;  arid  he  kept 
hitching-  around,  and  hammering,  without  regarding  or 
caring  for  our  presence.  The  rabbit,  with  ears  erect,  sat 
drawn  up  in  a  heap,  quivering  with  fear,  as  he  gazed 
upon  us. 

At  last  we  reached  the  bank,  of  the  river,  and  Veni- 
son said,  "  We  had  better  sit  down,  and  take  our  reck'- 
ning."  Here  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  pictures  of 
still  life  ever  painted  by  Nature.  The  river  wound 
away  like  a  silver  serpent,  until  it  was  lost  in  a  bank  of 
Indian  summer  haze,  and  it  gurgled  and  dashed  through 
the  aisles  of  the  forest,  like  a  dream  through  the  silent 
realms  of  sleep.  It  lay,  half  sunshine,  half  shadow,  and 
the  shadow  was  slowly  creeping  up  a  tall  cliff  on  the  op- 
posite shore,  as  the  day  advanced,  counting,  as  it  were, 
the  moments  as  they  passed.  Afar  down  it,  I  was 
amused  as  I  watched  a  flock  of  wild  geese.  They  were 
about  a  hundred  in  number,  sleeping  upon  the  water,  in 
a  glassy  cove,  their  heads  neatly  tucked  under  their 
wings.  An  old  gander,  who  had  been  appointed  senti- 
nel, to  keep  watch  and  guard,  was  doing  the  best  he 
could  to  perform  his  duty.  He  stood  upon  one  leg,  and 
he  grew  so  drowsy,  several  times,  that  lie  nearly  toppled 
over,  to  his  great  consternation,  and  the  danger  of  his 
charge.  But  rousing  up,  and  taking  two  or  three  pom- 
pous strides,  and  stretching  his  neck  to  its  utmost,  with 
a  very  wise  look,  he  satisfied  himself  that  all  was  right, 
and  that  he  was  not  so  bad  a  sentinel,  after  all. 

Near  by  this  sleeping  community,  where  a  ripple  played 
over  a  cluster  of  rocks,  a  flock  of  ducks  were  performing 
their  ablutions.  Now  they  were  diving,  now  combing 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  59 

out  their  feathers,  now  rising  and  flapping-  their  wings, 
now  playing  with  each  other,  when  the  leader  blowing  a 
blast  on  his  trumpet,  they  rose  gracefully  from  their  bath, 
and  forming  themselves  into  a  drag,  went  winnowing  up 
the  river  to  their  haunts  far  away. 

A  sand-hill  crane,  hoisted  up  on  his  legs  of  stilts,  his 
clothes  gathered  up,  and  pinned  behind  him,  was  lei- 
surely wading  about,  spearing  fish  for  his  breakfast.  A 
dozy,  stupid-looking  kingfisher  sat  upon  a  blasted  limb 
just  over  him,  looking  as  grave  as  a  country  justice  en- 
gaged in  the  same  business.  A  bald  eagle  came  rushing 
down  the  stream  like  an  air-ship,  his  great  wings  slowly 
heaving  up  and  down,  as  if  he  had  set  out  upon  an  all- 
day's  journey.  A  muskrat  ferried  himself  over  from 
one  side  to  the  other,  urgent  upon  business  best  known 
to  himself.  A  prairie- wolf  came  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  gave  a  bark  or  two,  and  taking  a  drink,  turned 
back  the  way  he  came. 

How  many  birds  had  left  the  wilderness  for  other 
climes  !  The  blackbirds,  those  saucy  gabblers,  who 
spent  the  summer  here,  feeding  upon  wild  rice,  departed 
a  month  ago.  I  saw  their  bustle  and  preparation.  They 
were  days  and  days  getting  ready  for  their  journey.  The 
whole  country  around  was  alive  with  their  noise.  They 
sang,  and  fretted.  They  seemed  to  bo  out  of  all  kind 
of  patience  with  everybody  and  everything  —  to  have  a 
kind  of  spite  against  Nature  for  driving  them  off.  All 
the  trees  about  the  marshes  were  loaded,  and  some  were 
singing,  some  complaining,  some  scolding  ;  but  having 
finally  completed  their  arrangements,  all  of  a  sudden  they 
left.  And  the  meadow-lark,  that  came  so  early  with  her 
spring  song  —  she  who  used  to  sit  upon  the  waving 


60  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

grass,  and  heave  herself  to  and  fro,  in  so  ecstatic  and 
polite  a  manner,  as  her  melody  rose  and  fell  —  she,  too, 
is  gone. 

But  about  hunting  bees.  Venison  informed  me  that 
here  was  the  spot  where  he  should  ''try  'em —  that  he 
didn't  know  nothin'  about  his  luck  ;  "  that  "  bees  were 
the  knowingest  critters  alive" —  that  they  lived  in  "the 
holler  trees,  all  around  us."  lie  said  "  they  had  queens 
to  govern  'em  "  —  that  they  had  "  workers  and  drones  " 

that  "everything  about  'ern  was  done  just  so,  and  if 

any  of  'em  broke  the  laws,  they  just  killed  'era,  and 
pitched  'em  overboard."  This,  he  said,  he  had  "  seed 
himself;  he  had  seed  a  regular  bee  funeral."  He  "  seed, 
once,  four  bees  tugging  at  a  dead  body,  drawing  it  on 
the  back,  when  they  throw'd  it  out  of  the  hive,  and  cov- 
ered it  over  with  dirt."  And  then  they  have  "  wars," 
he  says,  and  "  gin'rals,"  and  "captins,"  and  "  sogers," 
and  "  go  out  a-fightin',  and  a-stealin'  honey  ;  "  they  are 
very  "  knowin'  critters,  and  there  is  no  tellin'  nothin' 
about  'em." 

Venison  took  the  little  box  he  had  brought  with  him, 
which  was  filled  with  honey,  and,  opening  its  lid,  placed 
it  on  a  stump.  He  then  rambled  around  the  woods  until 
he  found  a  lingering  flower  that  had  escaped  the  frost, 
with  a  honey-bee  upon  it.  This  he  picked,  bee  and  all, 
and  placed  on  the  honey.  Soon  the  bee  began  to  work 
and  load  himself;  and  finally  he  rose  in  circles,  winding 
high  in  the  air,  and  suddenly  turning  a  right  angle,  he 
shot  out  of  sight. 

"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Gone  hum  where  he  lives,"  answered  Venison,  "to 
unload  his  thighs  and  tell  the  news." 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  61 

In  a  few  moments,  throe  bees  returned,  filled  them- 
selves, and  departed  ;  then  six  ;  then  a  dozen,  until  a 
black  line  was  formed,  along  which  they  were  rushing 
both  ways,  empty  and  laden,  one  end  of  which  was  lost 
in  the  forest. 

Venison  and  myself  then  started  on  a  trot,  with  our 
eyes  upward,  to  follow  this  living  line  ;  and  after  having 
proceeded  a  quarter  of  a  mile  it  became  so  confused  and 
scattered  that  we  gave  it  up,  and  returned. 

"  What  now  ?  "   I  inquired. 

"  Pll  have  ;cm  !  I'll  have  'em  !  "  he  replied.  «  They 
can't  cheat  old  Venison.  I've  hunted  the  critters  mor-nor 
forty  years,  and  I  allers  takes  'em  when  I  tries.  I'll 
draw  a  couple  of  more  sights  on  'em." 

Venison  took  two  pieces  more  of  honey,  and  placed 
one  on  each  side  of  his  box.  The  bees  followed  him  and 
commenced  their  work.  Very  soon,  instead  of  one,  he  had 
three  lines  established,  his  line  of  honey  forming  the  base 
of  a  triangle,  while  the  bees  were  all  rushing  to  its  point, 
on  each  side  of  this  triangle,  and  through  its  middle. 

This,  of  course,  was  a  demonstration.  Venison  and 
myself  followed  up  again,  and,  sure  enough,  we  "had 
'em/'  as  he  predicted.  There  they  were,  roaring  in  the 
top  of  a  great  oak,  like  thunder,  coming  in  arid  going 
out,  wheeling  up  and  down  through  the  air  as  though 
some  great  celebration  was  going  on.  It  seemed  that 
the  whole  hive  of  workers  must  have  broken  forth  to 
capture  and  carry  away  Venison's  honey-box. 

"  Will  they  sting  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Some  folks  say  they  will,"  he  replied.  "If  they  hate 
a  man  they'll  follow  him  a  mile  ;  and  nobody  knows  who 
they  hate  and  who  they  don't,  until  they're  tried." 


62  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  Where's  the  honey  ?  "   I  inquired  again. 

"  Well,  that's  the  next  thing  I'm  arter  ;  "  arid  Venison 
put  his  ear  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree  to  ascertain  in  what 
part  of  it  they  were  "a-workhV.  "  He  listened  a  while, 
but  "  they  warn't  low  down,  he  know'd,  for  he  didn't 
hear  'em  hummin'."  He  thought  the  honey  was  "  out 
the  way,  high  up  somewhere."  So  at  the  tree  he  went 
with  his  axe,  and  in  half  an  hour  the  old  oak  —  older, 
probably,  than  any  man  on  the  globe  —  came  down  with 
a  crash  that  roused  up  all  the  echoes  of  the  wilderness. 

Upon  an  examination,  the  honey  was,  probably,  Veni- 
son thought,  packed  away  in  a  hollow  of  the  tree,  about 
fifty  feet  from  the  ground,  as  a  large  knot-hole  was  dis- 
cerned, out  of  which  the  bees  were  streaming  in  great 
consternation.  So  lie  severed  the  trunk  again,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hollow,  and  there  it  was,  great  flakes  piled 
one  upon  another,  some  of  which  had  been  broken  by  the 
fall  of  the  tree,  and  were  dripping  and  oozing  out  their 
wild  richness. 

"  That's  the  raal  stuff,"  exclaimed  Venison  ;  "  some- 
thing 'sides  bees-bread." 

Venison  had  brought  nothing  with  him  to  hold  his 
honey,  and  I  was  a  little  curious  to  know  how  he  would 
manage.  He  cut  the  tree  again  above  the  knot.  During 
his  labor  the  bees  had  settled  all  over  him.  His  hands, 
lace,  and  hair  were  filled,  besides  a  circle  of  them  that 
were  angrily  wheeling  about  his  head.  But  he  heeded 
them  not,  except  by  an  occasional  shake,  which  was  sig- 
nificant of  pity  rather  than  rage. 

"  Now,"  said  Venison,  when  his  work  was  finished,  the 
tree  cut,  the  knot-hole  stopped,  and  the  whole  turned  up- 
side down,  "  that's  what  I  call  a  nat'ral  bee-hive,  and 


A    BEE   HUNT. 

'  That's  the  raal  stuff,"  exclaimed  Venison  ;   "  something  'sides  bees'-bread. " 
Page  62. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  63 

we'll  just  stuff  in  a  little  dry  grass  on  the  top,  and  then 
Til  be  ready  to  move.7' 

"  Move  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  move  !  You  don't  expect 
we  will  carry  home  a  tree,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Two  or  three  on  'em,  I  s'pect.  Venison  allers  gets 
as  much  as  that.7' 

Venison  was  right.  Before  noon,  half  a  dozen  hives 
were  captured  and  ready  for  removal.  I  confess,  after 
the  excitement  was  over,  that  I  began  to  grow  quite  se- 
rious over  my  forenoon's  labor.  I  sat  down  to  rest  my- 
self, and  the  very  solemnity  of  the  wilderness  produced 
a  sober  train  of  thought.  A  south-west  breeze  sprang 
up  loaded  with  the  dying  breath  of  the  fall-flowers.  It 
was  blowing  down  the  leaves  around  me,  and  piling  them 
up  in  gorgeous  drifts.  Like  an  undertaker  around  the 
remains  of  the  dead,  it  was  quietly  tearing  down  the 
drapery,  arid  preparing  the  year  for  its  burial.  A  haze 
overspread  everything,  and  the  distance  was  mellow,  the 
objects  indistinct,  and  the  whole  landscape  seemed  swim- 
ming, as  we  sometimes  see  it  in  a  dream.  The  trees  were 
covered  with  haze  ;  and  a  canoe,  on  its  way  down,  ap- 
peared to  be  hung  up  in  the  air ;  the  birds  were  hazy  ; 
arid,  looking  about  me,  I  appeared  to  be  sitting  in  a  great 
tent  of  haze.  The  squirrels  were  clattering  through  the 
trees,  and  throwing  down  the  nuts  ;  the  partridges  were 
drumming  ;  the  rabbits  rustling  through  the  dry  leaves ; 
the  water-fowl  hurrying  through  the  air  ;  and  the  crick- 
ets, those  melancholy  musicians,  were  piping  a  low, 
dirge-like  strain  to  the  golden  hours  of  autumn  as  they 
passed  away. 

I  thought  I  could  hear  the  great  heart  of  Nature  beat 
with  measured  arid  palpitating  strokes  ;  could  feel  the 
massive  pendulum  of  Time  swinging  back  arid  forth. 


64  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

But  I  said  T  was  rather  sober.  There  stood  our  six 
bee-hives,  and  clinging-  to  each  in  large  clusters  were  its 
inhabitants,  who  had  been  driven  forth  by  us  to  brave  a 
pitiless  winter.  We  had  destroyed  six  cities,  and  ban- 
ished their  people  ;  six  cities,  six  governments  of  law 
and  order.  Cities  laid  out  in  lanes,  and  streets,  and 
squares  ;  cities  of  dwelling-houses  and  castles  ;  cities 
filled  with  all  sorts  of  people  ;  all  castes  in  society. 
There  were  the  queen  and  her  palace  ;  the  drones  and 
their  castles  ;  and  the  serf,  or  day-laborer,  and  his  hut ; 
and  there,  sitting  upon  her  throne,  the  sovereign  swayed 
as  mighty' a  sceptre,  tyrannized  over  as  great  a  people, 
in  her  opinion,  as  any  human  despot.  She  undoubtedly 
bustled  about,  talked  large,  swelled  up  herself  with  her 
importance,  boasted  of  her  blood,  of  her  divine  right  to 
rule  (certainly  divine  in  her  case),  just  as  all  earthly 
princes  do.  There  she  projected  plans  of  war,  marshalled 
her  forces,  and  stimulated  their  courage  with  inflamma- 
tory appeals.  She  talked  about  her  house  as  the  royal 
line,  as  the  French  used  to  about  the  Bourbons.  And 
then  a  lazy  aristocracy  had  been  broken  up  by  us  ;  we 
t  had  turned  hundreds  of  drones  adrift,  and  according  to 
the  modern  definition,  drones  must  be  aristocrats  ;  that 
is,  they  did  no  work,  and  lived  upon  the  labor  of  others. 
They  were,  in  all  probability,  just  like  all  other  aristo- 
cratic drones.  They  lounged  about  the  hive  in  each  oth- 
er's company  ;  had  an  occasional  uproar  at  each  other's 
table  ;  turned  out  to  take  the  morning  air,  and  slept  after 
dinner.  They  probably  advised  in  all  matters  of  public 
policy,  and  cried  every  day,  "  Long  live  the  Queen. ;;  I 
did  not  care  much  about  the  drones,  however.  But  we 
had  turned  the  poor  day-laborer  out  of  doors  ;  he  who 


HUMORS    OF   THE   WEST.  65 

rose  with  the  sun,  and  went  forth  to  work  while  the  dew 
was  yet  lying  on  the  flowers.  We  had  humbled  the 
pride  of  six  cities,  and  brought  it  to  the  dust.  Is  it 
strange  that  I  felt  sober  ? 

But  Venison  broke  my  musing  by  informing  me  that  it 
was  "  about  time  to  cakalate  a  little  about  getting  our 
honey  home,  and  he  guessed  he'd  go  and  rig  up  a  raft, 
and  float  the  cargo  down." 

Arid  soon  a  raft  was  constructed  of  flood-wood,  and 
bound  together  with  green  withes,  the  honey  rolled 
aboard,  two  long  poles  prepared  to  be  used  to  guide  the 
craft,  and  away  we  glided,  followed  by  a  long  train  of 
bees,  who  had  been  despoiled,  and  who  streamed  along 
after  us,  until  the  shadows  of  evening  arrested  their 
flight,  and  parted  them  and  their  treasure  forever. 
5 


66  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Log-Chapel.  — Father  Beals.  —  Aunt  Graves.  —  Sister  Abigail. 
—  JJigclow  Van  Slyck,  the  Preacher.  —  His  Entree.  —  How  he 
worked.  —  One  of  his  Sermons. — Performance  of  the  Choir.  — 
i4  Coronation  "  achieved.  —  Getting  into  Position.  —  Personal  Ap- 
peals.—  Effect  on  the  Congregation.  —  Sabbath  in  the  Wilder- 
ness. —  Is  Bigelow  the  only  Ridiculous  Preacher  ? 

PUDDLEFOED  was  not  altogether  a  wilderness,  al- 
though it  was  located  near  a  wilderness.  It  was  lo- 
cated just  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization,  and,  like 
Venison  Styles,  it  caught  a  reflection  of  civilized  life 
from  the  east,  and  of  savage  life  from  the  west.  It  was 
an  organized  township,  and  was  a  part  of  an  organized 
county.  There  were  hundreds  and  thousands  of  men 
who  were  busy  at  work  all  over  this  county,  cutting 
down  the  trees  and  breaking  up  the  soil.  Law  and  reli- 
gion had  found  their  way  among  them,  just  as  they  al- 
ways accompany  the  American  pioneer.  It  could  not  be 
otherwise  ;  because  these  obligations  grow  up  and  weave 
themselves  into  the  very  nature  of  the  people  of  our  re- 
public. They  are  written  on  the  soul.  So  that  judicial 
circuits,  a  court-house  and  jail,  Methodist  circuits  and 
circuit-riders,  and  meeting-houses,  were  established.  All 
this  was  rough,  like  the  country  itself. 

Few  persons  have  ever  attempted  to  define  the   piety 
of  just  such  a  community  as  this  ;   and  yet  it  has  a  form, 


HUMORS    OF  THE   WEST.  67 

tone,  and  character  peculiarly  its  own.  The  portraits  of 
the  Puddlefordiaris  were  just  as  clearly  reproduced  in 
their  religion,  as  if  they  had  been  drawn  by  sunlight. 

The  ''log-chapel,77  as  it  was  called  at  Puddlefcrd,  was 
filled  each  week,  with  one  or  two  hundred  rough,  hard- 
featured,  unlearned  men  and  women,  who  had  come  in 
from  all  parts  of  the  country  ;  some  for  devotional  exer- 
cises, some  for  amusement ;  some  to  look,  and  some  to 
be  looked  at.  This  congregation  shifted  faces  each  week, 
like  the  colors  in  a  kaleidoscope.  It  was  never  the  same. 
The  man  in  the  pulpit  must  have  felt  as  though  he  were 
preaching  to  a  running  river,  whose  parts  were  continu- 
ally changing.  Yet  there  was  a  church  at  Puddleford, 
in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word  ;  it  was  organized,  and 
had,  at  the  time  I  refer  to,  ten  regular  members  in  good 
standing;  all  the  rest  was  "floating  capital/7  that  drifted 
in  from  Sunday  to  Sunday,  and  swelled  the  "  church 
proper." 

There  was  "  Father  Beals/'  and  old  "  Aunt  Graves/' 
and  "  Sister  Abigail/7  who  were  regular  attendants  at  all 
times  and  seasons.  They  were,  beyond  all  doubt,  the 
pillars  of  the  Puddleford  church.  Father  Beals  was  the 
church,  before  any  building  for  worship  was  erected.  He 
was  looked  upon  as  a  living,  moving,  spiritual  body  ;  a 
Methodist  organization  in  himself;  and  wherever  he  went 
to  worship  on  the  Sabbath,  whether  in  a  private  house,  a 
barn,  or  in  the  forest,  all  the  followers  of  that  order  were 
found  with  him,  drawn  there  by  a  kind  of  magnetism. 
The  old  man  had  been  one  of  the  faithful  from  a  boy  ; 
had  carried  his  principles  about  him  from  day  to  day ; 
was  indeed  a  light  in  the  world  ;  and  he  was,  by  some 
plan  of  PROVIDENCE,  flung  far  back  into  the  wilderness, 


68  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

all  burning,  to  kindle  up  and  set  on  fire  those  about  him. 
llis  influence  had  built  the  log-chapel,  arid,  like  a  regula- 
tor in  a  watch,  he  kept  it  steady,  pushing  this  wheel  a 
little  faster,  and  checking  that.  Sometimes  he  had  to 
command,  sometimes  entreat,  sometimes  threaten,  some- 
times soothe. 

"  Father  Beals  "  was  a  good  man  ;  and  no  higher  com- 
pliment can  be  paid  to  any  person.  His  head  was  very 
large,  bald,  and  his  hair  was  white.  There  was  an  ex- 
pression of  great  benevolence  in  his  face,  and  a  cold 
calmness  in  his  blue  eye  that  never  failed  to  command 
respect.  He  used  to  sit,  on  Sundays,  just  under  the 
pulpit,  with  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  thrown  over 
him,  while  his  wide-brimmed  hat,  that  he  wore  into  the 
country,  stood  in  front,  on  a  table,  and  really  seemed  to 
listen  to  the  sermon. 

"  Aunt  Graves  "  was  a  very  useful  body  in  her  way, 
and  the  Puddleford  church  could  not  have  spared  her  any 
more  than  "  Father  Beals."  She  was  an  old  maid,  and 
had  been  a  member  of  the  log-chapel  from  its  beginning. 
She  was  one  of  those  sincere  souls  that  really  believed 
that  there  was  but  one  church  in  the  world,  arid  that  was 
her  own.  She  felt  a  kind  of  horror  when  she  read  of 
other  denominations  having  an  actual  existence,  and  won- 
dered "  what  kind  of  judgment  would  fall  upon  them." 
She  didn't  know  very  much  about  the  Bible,  but  she 
knew  a  great  deal  about  religion  ;  she  knew  all  about 
her  own  duty,  and  quite  a  good  deal  about  the  duty  of 
her  neighbors. 

Now  "  Aunt  Graves  "  was  useful  in  many  ways.  She 
kept,  in  the  first  place,  a  kind  of  spiritual  thermometer, 
that  always  denoted  the  range  of  every  member's  piety 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  /     69 

except  her  own.  Every  slip  of  the  tongue  ;  every  un- 
charitable remark  ;  every  piece  of  indiscretion,  by  word 
or  deed ;  all  acts  of  omission,  as  well  as  of  commission, 
were  carefully  registered  by  her,  and  could  at  any  time 
be  examined  and  corrected  by  the  church.  This  was 
convenient  and  useful.  Then,  she  was  a  choice  piece  of 
melody  ;  there  was  not  another  voice  like  hers  in  the 
settlement.  It  had  evidently  been  pitched  "  from  the 
beginning"  for  the  occasion.  It  possessed  great  power, 
was  quite  shaky  (a  modern  refinement  in  music),  and 
could  be  heard  from  a  half  to  three  quarters  of  a  mile. 
She  has  been  known  to  sweep  away  on  a  high  note,  and 
actually  take  the  Puddleford  choir  off  their  feet.  She 
rode  through  the  staff  of  music  headlong,  like  a  circus- 
rider  around  the  ring ;  and  could  jump  three  or  four 
notes  at  any  time,  without  lessening  her  speed,  or  break- 
ing the  harmony.  She  would  take  any  piece  of  sacred 
music  by  storm,  on  the  very  shortest  notice.  In  fact, 
she  was  the  treble,  aided  by  a  few  others  who  had  re- 
ceived their  instruction  from  her ;  and  she  was  just  as 
indispensable  to  worship,  she  thought,  as  a  prayer  or  a 
sermon. 

11  Aunt  Graves  "  always  made  it  her  business  to  "  keep 
a  sharp  lookout"  after  the  morals  of  the  preacher. 
"Men  are  but  men,"  slu3  used  to  say,  "  and  preachers 
are  but  men  ;  and  they  need  some  person  to  give  'em  a 
hunch  once  in  a  while."  Sometimes  she  would  lecture 
him  of  the  log-chapel  for  hours  upon  evidences  of  piety, 
acts  of  immorality,  the  importance  of  circumspection,  the 
great  danger  that  surrounded  him  —  her  tongue  buzzing 
all  the  while  like  a  mill-wheel,  propelled  as  it  was  by  so 
much  zeal.  She  said  it  almost  made  her  "  crazy  to  keep 


70  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

the  Puddleford  church  right  side  up  ;  for  it  did  seem  as 
though  she  had  everything  on  her  shoulders :  and  she 
really  believed  it  would  have  gone  to  smash  long  ago,  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  her." 

Now,  "  Sister  Abigail"  wasn't  anybody  in  particular 
—  that  is,  she  was  not  exactly  a  free  agent.  She  was 
"Aunt  Graves's  "  shadow  —  a  reflection  of  her;  a  kind 
of  person  that  said  what  "  Aunt  Graves  "  said,  arid  did 
what  she  did,  and  knew  what  she  knew,  and  got  angry 
when  she  did,  and  over  it  when  she  did.  She  was  a  kind 
of  dial  that  "Aunt  Graves"  shone  upon,  and  any  one 
could  tell  what  time  of  day  it  was  with  "  Aunt  Graves," 
by  looking  at  "  Sister  Abigail." 

Besides  these  lights  in  the  church,  there  were  about  (as 
I  have  said)  ten  or  a  dozen  members,  and  a  congrega- 
tion weekly  of  one  or  two  hundred. 

But  I  must  not  pass  over  the  preacher  himself.  I  only 
speak  of  one,  although  many  filled  the  pulpit  of  the  Pud- 
dleford church  during  my  acquaintance  with  it.  Bigelow 
Van  Slyck  was  at  one  time  a  circuit-rider  on  the  Puddle- 
ford  circuit ;  and  I  must  be  permitted  to  say,  he  was  the 
most  important  character  that  had  filled  that  station 
prior  to  the  time  to  which  I  have  reference.  He  was 
half  Yankee,  half  Dutch  ;  an  ingenious  cross,  effected 
somewhere  down  in  the  State  of  Pennsylvania.  He  was 
not  yet  a  full-blown  preacher,  but  an  exhorter  merely. 
He  was  active,  industrious,  zealous,  and  one  would  have 
thought  he  had  more  duty  on  his  hands  than  the  head  of 
the  nation.  His  circuit  reached  miles  and  miles  every 
way.  He  was  here  to-day,  there  to-morrow,  and  some- 
where else  next  day ;  and  he  ate  and  slept  where  he 
could. 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  71 

Big-clow's  appointments  were  all  given  out  weeks  in. 
advance.  These  appointments  must  be  fulfilled  ;  and  he 
was  so  continually  pressed,  that  one  would  have  thought 
the  furies  were  ever  chasing  him. 

I  have  often  seen  him  rushing  into  the  settlement  after 
a  hard  day's  ride.  He  wore  a  white  hat  with  a  wide 
brim,  a  Kentucky-jean  coat,  corduroy  vest  and  breeches,  a 
heavy  pair  of  clouded-blue  yarn  stockings,  and  stogy  boots. 
He  rode  a  racking  Indian  pony,  who  wore  a  shaggy 
mane  and  tail.  Bigelow  usually  made  his  appearance  in 
Puddleford  just  as  the  long  shadows  of  a  Saturday  even- 
ing were  pointing  over  the  landscape.  The  pony  came 
clattering  in  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  panting  and  blow- 
ing, as  full  of  business  and  zeal  as  his  master,  while  Big- 
elow's  extended  legs  and  fluttering  bandana  kept  time  to 
the  movement.  The  women  ran  to  the  doors,  the  chil- 
dren paused  in  the  midst  of  their  frolic,  as  his  pony  stirred 
up  the  echoes  around  their  ears  ;  and  it  is  said  that  the 
chickens  and  turkeys,  who  had  often  witnessed  the  death 
of  one  of  their  number  when  this  phantom  appeared,  set 
up  a  most  dismal  hue-and-cry,  and  took  to  their  wings  in 
the  greatest  consternation. 

We  hope  that  none  of  our  readers  will  form  an  unfa- 
vorable opinion  of  Bigelow,  after  having  read  our  de- 
scription of  him.  He  was  the  man  of  all  others  to  fill 
the  station  he  occupied.  He  was  as  much  a  part  of, 
and  as  necessary  to,  the  wilderness  he  inhabited,  as  the 
oak  itself.  He  belonged  to  the  locality.  He  was 
one  of  a  gallery  of  portraits  that  nature  and  circum- 
stances had  hung  up  in  the  forest  for  a  useful  purpose, 
just  as  Squire  Longbow  was  another.  The  one  managed 
the  church,  the  other  the  courts  ;  and  all  this  was  done 


72  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

in  reference  to  society  as  it  was,  not  what  it  ought  to  be, 
or  might  be.  There  was  a  kind  of  elasticity  about  Bige- 
low's  theology,  as  there  was  about  the  Squire's  law,  that 
let  all  perplexing  technicalities  pass  along  without  pro- 
ducing any  friction.  They  were  graduated  upon  the 
sliding-scale  principle,  and  were  never  exactly  the  same. 

Bigelow  was  a  host  in  theology  in  his  way.  He  could 
reconcile  at  once  any  and  every  point  that  could  be  raised. 
He  never  admitted  a  doubt  to  enter  into  his  exhortations, 
but  he  informed  his  hearers  at  once  just  how  the  matter 
stood.  He  professed  to  be  able  to  demonstrate  any  theo- 
logical question  at  once,  to  the  satisfaction  of  any  rea- 
sonable mind  ;  and  it  was  all  folly  to  labor  with  the  un- 
reasonable, he  said,  for  they  would  "fight  agin  the  truth 
as  long  as  they  could,  any  way." 

I  used  occasionally  to  hear  him  exhort,  and  he  was  in 
every  respect  an  off-hand  preacher.  He  worked  like  a 
blacksmith  at  the  forge.  Coat,  vest,  and  handkerchief, 
one  after  the  other,  flew  off  as  he  became  more  and  more 
heated  in  his  discourse.  At  one  time  he  thundered  down 
the  terrors  of  the  law  upon  the  heads  of  his  hearers ;  at 
another  he  persuaded  ;  and  suddenly  he  would  take  a  fa- 
cetious turn,  and  accompany  the  truth  with  a  story  about 
his  grandfather  down  on  the  Ohio,  or  an  anecdote  that  he 
had  read  in  the  newspapers.  He  wept  and  he  laughed, 
and  the  whole  assembly  were  moved  as  his  feelings 
moved  ;  now  silent  with  grief,  and  now  swelling  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

I  recollect  one  of  his  sermons  in  part,  and,  in  fact,  the 
most  of  the  services  accompanying  it.  It  was  a  soft  day 
in  June.  The  birds  were  singing  and  revelling  among 
the  trees  which  canopied  the  chapel.  The  church  was 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  73 

filled.  The  choir  were  all  present.  "Fattier  Beals," 
"  Aunt  Graves/7  and  "  Sister  Abigail "  were  in  their  ac- 
customed seats.  The  farmers  from  the  country  had 
"  turned  out ;  "  in  fact,  it  was  one  of  the  most  stirring 
days  Puddleford  had  ever  known.  It  was  quite  evident 
that  the  occasion  was  extraordinary,  as  "  Aunt  Graves  " 
was  very  nervous  the  moment  she  took  her  seat  in  the 
choir.  If  any  error  should  be  committed,  the  exercises 
would  be  spoiled,  prayers,  preaching,  and  all ;  because, 
according  to  her  judgment,  they  all  depended  upon  good 
music  ;  and  that  she  was  responsible  for.  So  she  began 
to  hitch  about,  first  this  way,  and  then  that ;  then  she 
ran  over  the  music-book,  and  then  the  index  to  it ;  then 
she  hummed  a  tune  inaudibly  through  her  nose  ;  then  she 
examined  the  hymn-book,  and  then  changed  her  seat ; 
and  then  changed  back  again.  She  was,  in  her  opinion, 
the  wheel  that  kept  every  other  wheel  in  motion  :  arid 
what  if  that  wheel  should  stop  ! 

But  the  hymn  was  at  last  given  out ;  and  there  was  a 
rustling  of  leaves,  and  an  a-hemming,  and  coughing,  and 
spitting,  and  sounding  of  notes  ;  and  a  toot  on  a  cracked 
clarinet,  which  had  been  wound  with  tow ;  and  a  low 
grunt  from  a  bass-viol,  produced  by  a  grave-looking  man 
in  the  corner.  Then  all  rose,  and  launched  forth  in  one 
of  those  ancient  pieces  of  church  harmony,  ll  Corona- 
tion ;  "  every  voice  and  instrument  letting  itself  go  to 
its  utmost  extent.  One  airy-looking  person  was  pump- 
ing out  his  bass  by  rising  and  falling  on  his  toes  ;  another, 
more  solemn,  was  urging'  it  up  by  crowding  his  chin  on 
his  breast ;  another  jerked  it  out  by  a  twist  of  his  head  ; 
while  one  quiet  old  man,  whose  face  beamed  with  tran- 
quillity, just  stood,  in  perfect  ecstasy,  and  let  the  melody 


74  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

run  out  of  his  nose.  The  genius  on  the  clarinet  blew 
as  if  he  were  blowing  his  last.  His  cheeks  were  bloated, 
his  eyes  were  wild  and  extended,  and  his  head  danced 
this  way  and  that,  keeping  time  with  his  fingers ;  and  he 
who  sawed  the  viol  tore  away  upon  his  instrument  with 
a  kind  of  ferocity,  as  if  he  were  determined  to  commit 
some  violence  upon  it.  But  the  treble  —  what  shall  I  say 
of  it?  "Aunt  Graves  77  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  after 
the  "  parts  77  had  got  into  full  play  ;  she  put  on  the  power 
of  her  voice,  and  "  drowned  out"  everything  around  her 
at  once  ;  arid  then,  rising  higher  and  higher,  she  rushed 
through  the  notes,  the  choir  in  full  chase  after  her,  and 
absolutely  came  out  safely  at  last,  and  struck  upon  her 
feet,  without  injuring  herself  or  any  one  else. 

When  this  performance  closed,  quite  an  air  of  self-sat- 
isfaction played  over  the  faces  of  all,  declaring  clearly 
enough  that  their  business  was  over  for  an  hour  at  least. 
In  fact,  "Aunt  Graves77  was  entirely  out  of  breath,  and 
remained  in  a  languishing  state  for  several  minutes.  So . 
they  busied  themselves  the  best  way  they  could.  They 
gazed  at  every  person  in  the  house  except  the  preacher, 
and  did  everything  but  worship.  I  noticed  that  it  was 
very  difficult  for  the  female  portion  to  "get  into  posi- 
tion.77 They  tried  a  lounge  and  a  lean,  an  averted  face 
and  a  full  one.  Then  their  bonnet-strings  troubled  them, 
and  then  their  shawls  ;  and  now  a  lock  of  hair  got  astray, 
and  then  something  else.  The  men  were  as  philosophical 
and  indifferent  as  so  many  players  at  a  show.  He  of  the 
clarinet  once  so  forgot  the  day  as  to  raise  his  instru- 
ment to  the  window  and  take  a  peep  through  it,  so  that 
he  might  detect  its  air-holes,  if  any  there  were  ;  and  he 
afterwards  amused  himself  and  me,  along  time,  by  gravely 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  75 

licking  down  its  tow  bandage,  so  that  it  might  be  in  con- 
dition when  called  upon  to  perform  again.  In  fact,  the 
Puddleford  choir  was  very  much  like  choirs  in  all  other 
places. 

By  and  by,  Bigelow  took  his  stand,  preparatory  to  his 
sermon.  I  do  not  intend  to  follow  Bigelow  through  his 
discourse,  because  I  could  not  do  so  if  I  attempted  it ; 
nor  would  it  be  of  any  importance  to  the  reader,  if  I 
could.  He  said  he  would  not  take  any  text,  but  he  would 
preach  a  sermon  that  would  suit  a  hundred  texts.  He 
did  not  like  to  confine  himself  to  any  particular  portion 
of  the  Bible  ;  but  wished  to  retain  the  privilege  of  fol- 
lowing up  the  manifold  sins  of  his  congregation,  in 
whomsoever  or  wherever  they  existed.  He  then  launched 
himself  forth,  denouncing,  in  the  first  place,  the  sin  of 
profanity,  which  is  very  common  in  all  new  countries, 
evidently  having  in  view  two  or  three  of  his  hearers  who 
were  notoriously  profane  ;  and  after  considering  the 
question  generally,  he  declared  "that  of  all  sinners,  the 
profane  man  is  the  greatest  fool,  because  he  receives 
nothing  for  his  wickedness.  A'n't  that  true,  Luke 
Smith  ?  "  he  continued,  as  he  reached  out  his  finger  to- 
wards Luke,  whose  daily  conversation  was  a  string  of 
oaths  ;  "  a' n't  that  true  ?  How  much  have  you  made  by 
it  ?  —  answer  to  me,  and  this  congregation."  Luke  quiv- 
ered as  if  a  shock  of  electricity  had  passed  through  him. 

Bigelow  then  gave  a  short  history  of  his  own  sins  in 
that  line  at  an  early  day,  before  he  entered  the  pulpit, 
when  he  was  young  and  surrounded  by  temptations  ;  but, 
he  said,  he  reformed  at  last,  and  every  other  man  might 
do  so  by  the  same  means.  "  When  you  feel  yourself 
swelling  with  a  big  oath  —  for  every  man  feels  7em  inside 


76  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

before  they  break  out,"  exclaimed  Bigelow,  —  "jump  up 
and  cry  "  Jezebel  1  77  three  times  in  succession,  and  you'll 
feel  as  calm  as  an  infant.     This/7  he  continued,  "  lets  off 
the  feeling  without  the  commission  of  sin,  and  leaves  the. 
system  healthy." 

He  next  considered"  the  sin  of  Sabbath-breaking;  .and 
he  poured  down  the  melting  lava  upon  the  heads  of  his 
hearers  with  a  strength  and  ingenuity  that  I  have  seldom, 
seen  equalled.  "  Men/7  he  said,  "  would  labor  harder 
to  break  the  Sabbath  than  they  would  for  bread.  They 
would  chase  a  deer  from  morning  till  night  on  this  holy 
day,  kill  him,  and  then  throw  the  carcass  away ;  but  week- 
days they  lounge  about  some  Puddleford  dram-shop, 
while  their  families  were  suffering.  Men,  too/7  he  con- 
tinued, "fish  on  Sundays,  because  the  devil  has  informed 
them  that  fish  bite  better.  It  is  the  devil  himself  who 
does  the  biting,  not  the  fish  ;  it  is  he  who  is  fishing  for 
you ;  for  Bill  Larkin,  and  Sam  Trimble,  and  Hugh  Wil- 
liams, and  scores  of  others  ;  he7s  got  you  now,  and  you 
will  be  scaled  and  dressed  for  his  table  unless  you  escape 
instantly ;  77  and  then,  to  impress  his  illustration,  he 
soared  away  into  a  flight  of  eloquence  just  suited  to  his 
hearers  ;  rough  and  fiery,  plain  and  pointed,  neither  above 
nor  below  the  capacity  of  those  he  addressed. 

Bigelow  then  made  a  descent  upon  lying  and  liars.  He 
regretted  to  say  that  this  sin  was  very  common  in  the 
church.  "  lie  had  a  dozen  complaints  before  him  now, 
undecided  ;  "  and  he  detailed  a  few  of  them,  as  speci- 
mens of  "the  depravity  of  the  human  heart/7  He  "  didn't 
want  to  hear  any  more  of  them,  as  he  had  something  else 
to  do,  besides  taking  charge  of  the  tongues  of  his  church/' 

Then  came  an  exhortation  on  duties  ;  and  almost  every 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  77 

practical  virtue  was  mentioned  and  impressed.  Early 
rising,  industry,  economy,  modesty,  contentment,  etc., 
etc.,  all  received  a  notice  at  his  hands.  "  Don't  sleep 
yourselves  to  death  !  "  exclaimed  Big-clow  ;  "  rise  early  ! 
work  !  for  while  you  sleep  the  Enemy  will  sow  your  fields 
full  of  tares  ;  and  the  only  way  to  keep  him  out  is  to  bo 
on  the  spot  yourself!  "  This  was  a  literal  application  of 
the  parable,  it  is  true  ;  yet  it  was  very  well  done,  and 
productive,  I  have  no  doubt,  of  some  good. 

Bigelow  closed  in  a  most  tempestuous  manner.  He 
was  eloquent,  sarcastic,  and  comical,  by  turns.  lie  had 
taken  off  nearly  all  his  clothes,  except  his  pantaloons, 
shirt,  and  suspenders  j  a  custom  among  a  certain  class  of 
western  preachers,  however  strange  it  may  appear  to 
many  readers.  Streams  of  perspiration  were  running 
down  his  face  and  neck ;  his  hair  was  in  confusion  ;  and 
altogether,  he  presented  the  appearance  of  a  man  who 
had  passed  through  some  convulsion  of  nature,  and  barely 
escaped  with  his  life. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  that  Bigelow  was  entitled  to 
great  credit,  not  only  for  the  matter  his  sermon  contained, 
but  in  being  able  to  deliver  a  sermon  at  all  amid  the  con- 
fusion which  often  surrounded  him.  There  were  a  dozen 
or  more  infants  in  the  crowd,  some  crowing,  some  cry- 
ing, and  some  chattering.  One  elderly  lady,  in  particu- 
lar, had  in  charge  one  of  these  responsibilities,  that 
seemed  to  set  the  place  and  the  preacher  at  defiance. 
She  tried  every  expedient  to  quiet  the  little  nuisance,  but 
it  was  of  "no  use."  She  set  it  down,  laid  it  down, 
turned  it  around,  nursed  it,  chirped  at  it :  and  finally, 
giving  up  in  despair,  she  placed  it  on  her  knee,  the  child 
roaring  at  the  top  of  its  lungs,  and  commenced  trotting 


78  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

it  in  the  very  face  of  the  audience.  This  operation  cut 
up  the  music  of  the  innocent,  and  threw  it  out  in  short, 
quick  jerks,  very  agreeable  to  the  preacher  and  congre- 
gation. 

An  excellent  old  woman  also  sat  directly  in  front  of 
Bigelow,  her  left  elbow  resting  on  her  knee,  which  she 
swayed  to  and  fro  with  a  sigh.  Her  face  lay  devoutly  in 
the  palm  of  her  hand,  while  her  right  thumb  and  forefin- 
ger held  a  pinch  of  snuff,  which  she  every  now  and  then 
slowly  breathed  up  a  hawk-bill  nose,  with  a  long-drawn 
whistle,  something  after  the  sort  that  broke  forth  from 
the  clarinet  a  while  before.  She  then  blew  a  blast  into 
a  faded  cotton  handkerchief,  that  reverberated  like  the 
voice  of  "  many  trumpets.7'  This  was  followed  by  fits 
of  coughing,  and  sneezing,  and  sighing ;  in  fact,  she 
sounded  as  great  a  variety  of  notes  as  the  choir  itself. 

Besides  all  this,  a  troop  of  dogs  who  had  followed 
their  masters  were  continually  marching  up  and  down 
the  chapel  ;  and  when  any  unusual  excitement  occurred 
with  Bigelow,  or  any  one  else,  as  there  did  several 
times,  we  had  a  barking-chorus,  which  threatened  to  sus- 
pend the  whole  meeting.  Bigelow,  however,  didn't  mind 
any  or  all  of  these  things  ;  but,  like  a  skilful  engineer, 
he  put  on  the  more  steam,  and  ran  down  every  obstacle 
in  his  way. 

Reader,  I  have  given  you  a  description  of  the  log- 
chapel  at  Puddleford.  It  is  like  a  thousand  other  places 
of  public  worship  in  a  "new  country. "  If  there  is 
something  to  condemn,  there  is  more  to  praise.  There 
seems  to  be  a  providence  in  this,  as  in  all-  other  things. 

The  settlers  in  a  forest  are  a  rough,  hardy,  and  gener- 
ally an  honest  race  of  men.  It  is  their  business  to  hew 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  79 

down  the  wilderness,  and  prepare  the  way  for  a  different 
class  who  will  surely  follow  them.  They  cannot  culti- 
vate their  minds  to  any  extent,  or  refine  their  characters. 
They  must  be  reached  through  the  pulpit  by  such  means 
as  will  reach  them.  Of  what  importance  is  a  nice  theo- 
logical distinction  with  them  ?  Of  what  force  a  labored 
pulpit  disquisition  ?  They  have  great  vices  and  strong 
virtues.  Their  vices  must  be  smitten  and  scattered  with 
a  sledge-hammer;  they  are  not  to  be  played  with  in  a 
flourish  of  rhetoric.  Just  such  a  human  tornado  as  Big- 
elow  is  the  man  for  the  place ;  he  may  commit  some  mis- 
chief, but  he  will  leave  behind  him  a  purer  moral  atmos- 
phere and  a  serener  nky. 

Society,  in  such  a  place  as  Puddleford,  is  cultivated 
very  much  like  its  soil.  Both  lie  in  a  state  of  rude  na- 
ture, and  both  must  be  improved.  The  great  "breaking- 
plough,"  with  its  dozen  yoke  of  cattle,  in  the  first  place, 
goes  tearing  and  groaning  through  the  roots  and  grubs 
that  lie  twisted  under  it,  just  as  Bigelow  tore  and  groaned 
through  the  stupidity  and  wickedness  of  his  hearers. 
Then  comes  the  green  grass,  and  wheat,  and  flowers,  as 
years  draw  on  ;  producing,  at  last,  "  some  sixty,  and 
some  a  hundred-fold/' 

There  is  something  impressive  in  the  Sabbath  in  the 
wilderness.  A  quiet  breathes  over  the  landscape  that  is 
almost  overwhelming.  In  a  city,  the  church-steeples  talk 
to  one  another  their  lofty  music  ;  but  there  are  no  bells 
in  the  wilderness  to  mark  the  hours  of  worship.  The 
only  bell  which  is  heard  is  rung  by  Memory,  as  the  hour 
of  prayer  draws  nigh  ;  some  village-bell,  far  away,  that 
vibrated  over  the  hills  of  our  nativity,  the  tones  of  which 
we  have  carried  away  in  our  soul,  and  which  are  awa- 
kened by  the  solemnity  of  the  day. 


80  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

There  is  a  philosophy  in  all  this,  if  we  will  but  see  it ; 
there  is  more  ;  there  is  a  lesson,  possibly  a  reproof.  If 
we  are  disposed  to  smile  at  the  rusticity  of  a  Puddleford 
church,  may  we  not  with  equal  reason  become  serious 
over  the  overgrown  refinement  of  many  another  ?  May 
not  something  be  learned  in  the  very  contrast  which  is 
thus  afforded  ?  Do  not  the  extravagant  hyperbole,  coarse 
allusions,  irreverent  anecdote,  and  strong  but  unpolished 
shafts  of  sarcasm,  that  such  as  Bigelow  so  unsparingly 
scatter  over  the  sanctuary,  give  a  rich  background  and 
strong  relief  to  the  finished  rhetoric  of  many  a  pulpit 
essay,  that  has  been  written  to  play  with  the  fancy  and 
tranquillize  the  nerves  of  a  refined  and  fashionable  audi- 
ence ?  Are  not  the  extremes  equally  ridiculous  ?  the  one 
not  having  reached,  the  other  having  passed  the  zenith. 


HUMORS  OF  THE    WEST. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Indian  Summer.  —  Venison  Styles  again.  —  Jim  Buzzard.  —  Fishing 
Excursion,  —  Muskrat  City.  —  Indian  Burying-ground.  —  The 
Pickerel  and  the  Rest  of  the  Fishes.  —  The  Prairie.  —  Wild  Geese. 
-*-  The  Old  Mound.  —  Venison's  Regrets  at  the  degenerating 
Times.  —  His  Luck,  and  Mine.  —  Reminiscences  of  the  Beavers. 
—  Camping  out.  —  Safe  Return. 

INDIAN  summer  had  not  yet  taken  her  bow  from  the 
woods  or  her  breath  from  the  sky.  Old  Autumn  still 
lay  asleep  ;  Time  stood  by,  with  his  hour-glass  erect, 
slowly  counting  the  palpitations  of  his  heart. 

Venison  Styles  appointed  a  day  for  a  fishing  excursion, 
and  was  desirous  of  my  company  ;  so,  on  one  of  those 
bright  mornings,  we  might  have  been  seen  loading  our 
gear  into  the  boat,  preparatory  to  a  night's  lodging  in 
the  woods.  We  were  accompanied  by  "Jim  Buzzard/' 
a  genuine  Puddlefordian,  whom  we  took  along  to  do  up 
the  little  pieces  of  drudgery  that  always  attend  such  an 
expedition. 

Puddleford  was  a  wonderful  place  for  fish-eaters,  and 
the  only  real  harvest  the  villagers  had  was  the  fish-har- 
vest. One  half  of  Puddleford  lived  on  fish,  and  every- 
body fished.  But  our  "  Jim  Buzzard  "  was  a  character 
in  fish,  and  I  could  never  excuse  myself  if  I  should  pass 
him  over  unnoticed. 

Where  "Jim"  was  born  —  who  was  his  father  or 
6 


82  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

mother  —  and  whether  he  actually  ever  had  any,  are 
questions  that  no  mortal  man  was  ever  yet  able  to  an- 
swer, lie  appeared  one  spring  morning  in  Puddleford 
with  the  swallows.  The  first  thing  seen  of  him,  he  was 
sitting,  about  sunrise,  on  an  old  dry  goods'  box,  at  the 
corner  of  a  street,  whistling  a  variety  of  lively  airs. 
The  crown  was  dangling  from  the  top  of  his  hat,  he  was 
shirtless  and  unshaved,  and  his  shoes  gaped  horribly  at 
the  public. 

"Jim"  was  a  genuine  loafer,  and  loafers,  you  know, 
reader,  pervade  every  place,  and  are  alwa}rs.  the  same. 
There  is  a  certain  class  of  animals  that  are  said  to  follow 
civilization,  as  sharks  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  ship,  and 
generally  for  the  same  reason,  to  pick  up  what  they  can 
find.  Eats  and  loafers  belong  to  this  class,  and  there  is 
no  human  ingenuity  shrewd  enough  to  keep  them  off : 
their  appearance  seems  to  be  a  simple  fulfilment  of  a 
law  of  nature. 

Jim  Buzzard  was  a  fisher,  too,  and  nothing  but  a 
fisher.  He  would  sit  on  an  old  log  by  the  bank  of  the 
river,  and  hold  a  pole  from  morning  until  night.  If  the 
fish  would  bite,  very  well  ;  if  they  would  not,  very  well. 
Ill-luck  never  roused  his  wrath,  because  there  was  no 
wrath  in  him  to  arouse.  He  was  a  true  philosopher, 
and  was  entirely  too  lazy  to  get  into  a  passion.  Jim 
knew  that  the  fish  would  bite  to-morrow,  or  next  day.  if 
they  didn't  to-day.  He  was  happy,  completely  so  ;  that 
is,  as  completely  happy  as  the  world  will  admit.  lie 
didn't  envy  anybody  —  not  he.  All  his  wants  were 
supplied,  and  what  did  he  care  about  the  possessions  of 
his  neighbors  ?  He  never  realized  any  future,  here  or 
hereafter.  Jim  never  lay  awake  nights,  thinking  about 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  83 

where  he  would  be,  or  what  he  should  have,  next  week. 
He  didn't  know  as  there  was  any  next  week.  He  knew 
the  sun  rose  and  set,  which  was  all  the  time  he  ever 
measured  at  once.  Well,  as  I  said,  Jim  made  one  of  our 
company. 

Our  boat  was  finally  loaded,  our  crew  shipped,  and 
we  shot  forth  into  the  stream.  The  water  lay  as  smooth 
as  glass,  arid  the  reflected  colors  of  the  blazing  trees 
that  hung  over  it  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  carpet. 
The  headlands  put  out  here  and  there,  intersected  by 
long  gores  of  marsh,  that  ran  away  a  mile  or  more  in 
the  distance. 

Upon  one  of  these  marshes  a  city  had  been  reared  by 
the  muskrats,  which  presented  an  interesting  appearance. 
Hundreds  of  huts  had  been  erected  by  this  busy  popu- 
lation, intended  by  them  as  their  winter  quarters,  com- 
posed of  grass  and  sticks  and  mud,  and  hoisted  up 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  spring  floods.  Each  one  was 
a  little  palace,  and  the  whole  sat  upon  the  water  like  a 
miniature  Venice.  Here  huts  were  entered  by  diving 
down,  the  front  door  being  always  concealed  to  prevent 
intrusion.  Up  and  down  the  canals  of  this  city  the  in- 
habitants gossiped  and  gambolled  by  moonlight,  like  those 
of  every  other  gay  place.  They  had  their  routs,  and 
cotillons,  and  suppers,  in  all  human  probability,  and  for 
aught  I  know  drank  themselves  stupid.  Perhaps  they 
kept  up  an  opera.  I  say  perhaps  —  we  know  so  little 
of  the  inner  life  of  these  strange  creatures,  that  we  may 
draw  upon  the  imagination  in  regard  to  their  amusements 
as  much  as  we  please.  If  any  transcendental  muskrat 
should  ever  write  the  history  of  this  colony,  I  will  for- 
ward it  to  the  newspapers  by  the  first  mail. 


84  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Venison  said,  "  we  were  going  to  have  a  wet  time 
on't,  cause  the  rats  had  built  so  high,  and  the  whole 
mash  would  be  covered  bime-by,  by  the  raifis."  lie 
said,  "  muskrats  know'd  more  nor  men  about  times 
ahead,  and  fixed  up  things  'cordirigly." 

Our  boat  glided  along  until  we  came  in  sight  of  a  huge 
bluff  that  had  pushed  itself  half  across  the  stream.  A 
melancholy  fragment  of  one  of  the  tribes  of  Indians,  who 
once  held  the  sovereignty  of  the  soil,  and  who  had 
escaped  a  removal,  or  had  wandered  back  from  their 
banishment,  were  clustered  upon  it.  They  had  erected 
a  long  pole,  and  gathered  themselves,  hand  in  hand,  in 
a  circle  about  it ;  within  this  circle,  their  medicines  and 
apparel  worn  in  worship,  lay  for  consecration.  The 
plaintive  chant  was  heard  melting  along  the  waters,  as 
they  wheeled  round  and  round  in  their  solemn  service. 
I  have  never  looked  upon  a  more  touching  exhibition. 
Most  of  these  Indians  were  very  old  ;  they  had  outlived 
their  tribe,  their  country,  their  glory  —  everything  but 
their  ceremonies  and  themselves.  What  a  beautiful  trib- 
ute was  this  to  the  past !  a  handful  of  worshippers  linger- 
ing round  the  broken  altar  of  their  temple,  and  hallowing 
its  very  ruins. 

Near  by,  and  on  the  southern  slope  of  the  bluff,  lay 
the  remains  of  an  extensive  Indian  bury  ing-ground.  No 
white  man  could  tell  its  age.  Large  oaks,  centuries  old, 
that  had  grown  since  the  dead  were  first  deposited  there, 
stood  up  over  the  graves.  No  monuments  of  stone  des- 
ignated the  thousands  of  sleepers  —  the  living  them- 
selves were  the  monuments  of  the  dead.  Weapons 
of  war  and  peace  were  scattered  beneath  the  turf,  mixed 
with  crumbling  human  bones. 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  85 

What  were  this  little  band  of  red  men,  thought  I,  but 
so  many  autumn  leaves  ?  A  few  years  more,  and  the 
solitary  "boat,  as  it  turns  this  headland,  will  find  no  war- 
rior kneeling1  on  its  height.  The  Great  Spirit  will  brood 
alone  over  the  solitude. 

By  and  by,  we  turned  into  a  bay,  sheltered  by  an  over- 
hanging cliff,  where  we  cast  our  anchor,  and  made  ready 
for  work.  The  water  was  transparent,  and  the  shining 
pebbles  glittered  in  the  sandy  depths  below.  Shoals  of 
fish  had  gathered  in  this  nook,  beyond  the  strife  of 
waters.  The  sun-fish,  his  back  all  bristling  with  rage, 
ploughed  around  with  as  much  ferocity  as  a  privateer  ; 
the  checkered  perch  lazily  rolled  from  side  to  side,  as 
his  breath  came  and  went ;  the  little  silver  dace  darted 
and  flashed  through  each  other  their  streams  of  light; 
and  away  off,  all  alone,  the  pickerel,  that  terror  of  the 
pool,  stood  as  still  arid  dart-like  as  the  vane  of  a  steeple. 

This  congregation  reminded  me  of  the  stir  we  some- 
times find  in  the  ports  of  a  city.  They  seemed  to  have 
much  business  on  hand.  They  were  continually  putting 
out  arid  putting  in  ;  sometimes  alone  and  sometimes  in 
fleets.  I  noticed  an  indolent  old  "  sucker,"  who  made 
several  unsuccessful  attempts  to  reach  the  current,  and 
get  under  headway.  Once  in  a  while,  a  fish  would 
come  dashing  in  from  above,  like  a  ship  before  a  gale, 
throwing  the  whole  community  into  an  uproar. 

Below  us,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  stretched  a 
prairie  which  was  several  miles  in  circumference.  It 
was  dotted,  here  and  there,  with  a  settler's  cabin,  but 
the  greater  part  yet  lay  in  the  wild  luxuriance  of  nature. 
It  was  surrounded  by  the  forest,  and  long  points  of 
woodland  pierced  it,  now  glowing  like  a  flame.  Shoot- 


86  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

ing  back  and  forth,  the  prairie-hens  sailed  across  it.  like 
boats  upon  the  main.  The  sky  above  it  was  filled  with 
hawks,  sweeping  round  and  round  in  search  of  prey  - — 
now  they  rested  upon  their  outspread  wings  —  then 
plunged,  through  a  long-drawn  curve  —  then  gracefully 
moved  near  the  earth  in  downward  circles,  as  some  object 
was  discovered,  winnowing  a  while  above  it,  to  make 
sure  of  its  nature  and  position,  and  rising  once  more, 
and  turning  with  lightning  quickness,  away  they  rushed 
upon  their  quarry,  and  soared  away  with  it  on  high. 

In  the  depth  of  winter,  when  the  lakes  and  rivers  are 
bound  in  ice,  vast  bodies  of  geese  assemble  there.  Acres 
of  ground  are  covered,  and  they  storm  about  their  camp 
like  an  army  of  soldiers.  Some  commanding  elevation, 
far  out  from  shore,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  hunter's  gun, 
is  selected.  When  disturbed,  their  sentinels  blow  the 
alarm,  and  away  they  go,  piping  their  dismal  dirge,  until 
it  dies  afar  in  the  sky.  By  daybreak  the  next  morning, 
they  are  on  the  ground  again,  as  tranquil  as  though  noth- 
ing had  happened. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  trap  these  wanderers.  Be- 
fore they  establish  their  quarters,  they  study  the  land- 
scape with  the  eye  of  a  painter.  They  take  a  daguerrian 
view  of  objects  as  they  are.  The  log-hut,  with  its  curl- 
ing smoke — the  hay-stack  crowned  with  snow  —  the 
settler's  cart  tipped  up,  its  tongue  pointing  towards  the 
north  star — a  goose  understands  as  well  as  a  man. 
They  never  blow  up  nor  work  destruction.  But  just  try 
an  artificial  house  of  boughs,  a  brush  fence,  or  an  in- 
trenchment  near  their  lines.  They  see  the  plot  at  a 
glance,  and  draw  out  of  harm's  way,  and  pitch  their 
snowy  tents  again,  beyond  its  reach.  As  well  chase  the 
fabled  island  as  a  flock  of  wild  geese. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  87 

Not  far  below  this  prairie,  near  the  bank  of  the  river, 
a  venerable  mound  raised  its  solitary  head.  It  was 
thinly  covered  with  oaks,  and  belonged  to  Oblivion. 
It  was  one  of  the  few  feathers  that  Time  had  cast  in  his 
flight,  to  mark  the  past  and  confuse  the  present.  It 
looked  like  a  hand  reached  out  from  eternity  ;  but  whose 
hand  ?  Ay,  whose  ?  Who  built  it  ?  When  ?  Why  ? 
It  was  filled  with  all  kinds  of  strange  things  that  had 
been  planted  there  by  a  busy  race  who  were  unable  to 
preserve  their  own  history.  Their  works  had  outlived 
themselves  ;  but  they  cannot  talk  to  us,  nor  tell  us  what 
they  are,  nor  who  fashioned  them.  There  it  stands,  gaz- 
ing dumbly  at  all  who  look  upon  it,  a  sad  lesson  to  indi- 
vidual pride  or  national  glory. 

Venison  did  not  seem  quite  satisfied  with  the  prospect 
of  catching  fish  in  the  little  bay.  "  'Tain't  as  it  used  to 
be,"  sighed  the  old  hunter.  "  Before  the  woods  were 
cut  down,  and  them  are  dams  built/7  said  he,  "  the 
whole  river  was  alive  with  all  sorts  of  fish.  In  the 
spring-time  the  salmon-trout  and  sturgeon  used  to  come 
up  out  of  the  lakes  to  feed,  but  they  can't  get  up  any 
more.  They  keep  trying  it  every  year  yet,  and  thou- 
sands on  'em  may  be  seen  packed  in  below  old  Jones' 
dam,  'long  'bout  April,  waiting  and  waiting  for  it  to  go 
off.  For  I  s'pose  they  think  'tain't  nothing  but  flood- 
wood  lodged." 

"  Why  don't  they  climb  it  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  When  the  water  is  very  high  up,  and  there  arn't 
much  of  a  riffle  there,  they  will  sometimes  ;  but  they 
ean't  climb  like  them  speckled  trout  —  they'll  go  right 
up  a  mountain  stream,  and  make  nothing  on't  —  them 
fellers  beat  all  nater  for  going  anywhere." 


88  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

However,  as  I  said  somewhere  back  in  my  narrative, 
we  made  ready  for  work.  We  looked  around  for  Jim 
Buzzard,  and  found  him  sitting  in  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
his  legs  sprawled  out,  his  head  dropped  on  his  chin,  his 
ragged  hat  cocked  on  one  side,  fast  asleep.  There  was 
an  ease  and  self-abandonment  about  his  appearance  that 
were  really  beautiful.  Jim  could  sleep  anywhere  — 
some  people  can't.  He  was  never  nervous.  He  never 
had  any  spasms  about  something  that  could  never  occur. 
He  had  no  notes  falling  due — no  crops  in  the  ground 
—  no  merchandise  on  his  hands  —  no  property,  except 
the  little  he  carried  on  his  back,  and  that  he  didn't 
really  own  ;  it  was  given  to  him  —  he  was  no  candidate 
for  office,  and  didn't  even  know  or  care  who  was  Presi- 
dent—  all  administrations  were  alike  to  him,  for  all  had 
treated  him  well.  He  never  flow  into  a  passion  because 
some  persons  slandered  him,  because  he  had  no  character 
to  injure. 

"  Hallo,  Jim  !  "  I  screamed,  with  my  mouth  to  his  ear, 
"  the  boat  is  sinking." 

He  gaped,  and  groaned,  and  stretched  a  few  times,  and 
filially  opened  his  eyes,  and  adjusted  his  hat,  and  looking 
up  at  me,  "Let  her  sink,  then,"  he  replied;  "we  can 
get-er  up  agin." 

"  Stir  around  !  stir  around,  Jim  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  the 
fish  are  waiting  for  our  bait ;  out  with  your  pole." 

He  said,  "  he  was  goin*  overboard  arter  fresh-water 
clams  —  kase  they  were  good  with  salt,  and  anybody 
could  eat  ;em  ;  "  and  rolling  up  his  breeches,  over  he 
went,  and  moving  away  down  near  a  sandy  beach,  he 
commenced  digging  his  clams  with  his  feet,  and  piling 
them  up  on  shore  by  his  side. 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  89 

Venison  and  myself  dashed  our  lines  overboard.  I 
watched  every  movement  of  the  old  hunter.  lie  went 
through  as  many  ceremonies  as  a  magician  working  a 
charm.  His  "  minnys  "  (minnows),  as  he  called  them, 
were  hooked  tenderly  at  a  particular  place  in  the  back, 
so  that  they  might  shoot  around  in  the  water,  without 
dying  in  the  effort ;  his  hook  was  pointed  in  a  certain  di- 
rection, so  as  to  catch  at  the  first  bite  ;  he  then  spit  upon 
the  bait,  and  swinging  the  line  a  few  times  in  circles,  he 
threw  it  far  out  in  the  stream. 

"  That'll  bring  a  bass,  pickerel,  or  something/'  said 
he,  as  it  struck  the  water. 

Soon  the  pole  bent,  and  Venison  sprang  upon  it. 
"  Pull  him  out !  "  exclaimed  I. 

"Don't  never  hurry  big  fish,"  replied  he;  "let  him 
play  round  a  little  ;  he'll  grow  weak  byme-by,  and  come 
right  along  into  the  boat ;  "  and  accordingly,  Venison  "  let 
him  play  ;  "  he  managed  the  fish  with  all  that  refinement 
in  the  art  that  sportsmen  know  so  well  how  to  appreciate 
arid  enjoy.  Sometimes  it  raced  far  up  the  stream,  then 
far  down  ;  and  once,  as  the  line  brought  it  up  on  a  down- 
ward trip,  it  bounded  into  the  air,  and  turned  two  or 
three  summersets  that  shook  the  silver  drops  of  water 
from  its  fins.  After  a  while,  it  became  exhausted,  and 
Venison  slowly  drew  him  into  the  boat,  all  breathless  and 
panting;  a  famous  pickerel,  four  feet  long  and  "well 
proportioned." 

My  poles,  all  this  time,  remained  just  where  I  first 
placed  them  —  not  a  nibble,  as  I  knew.  Some  very 
wicked  people,  I  have  been  informed,  swear  at  fish 
when  they  refuse  to  bite  —  but  I  did  not  —  because  I 
have  never  been  able  to  see  why  they  were  to  blame,  or 


90  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

why  swearing  would  reform  them,  if  they  were.  It  was 
no  very  good  reason  that  they  should  take  hold  of  one 
end  of  my  pole  and  line,  because  I  happened  to  be  at  the 
other. 

Not  having  much  luck  with  big  fish,  I  concluded  to 
amuse  the  "  small  fry."  So  out  went  my  hook  ker-slump 
right  down  in  the  midst  of  a  great  gathering,  who  seemed 
to  have  met  on  some  business  of  importance.  It  was  a 
little  curious  to  watch  these  finny  fellows  as  they  eyed 
my  worm.  They  swept  round  it  in  a  circle,  a  few  times, 
and  coming  up  with  a  halt,  and  forming  themselves 
abreast,  they  rocked  up  and  down  from  head  to  tail,  as 
they  surveyed  the  thing.  By  and  by,  a  perch,  a  little 
more  venturesome  than  the  rest,  floated  up  by  degrees 
to  the  bait,  his  white  fins  slowly  moving  back  and  forth, 
and  carefully  reaching  out  his  nose,  he  touched  it, 
wheeled,  and  shot  like  a  dart  out  of  sight.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  came  round  in  the  rear  of  the  company,  to 
await  further  experiments.  Next  came  the  sun-fish,  jerk- 
ing along,  filled  with  fire  and  fury,  with  a  kind  of  who's- 
afraid  sort  of  look,  and  striking  at  my  hook,  actually 
caught  the  tip  of  the  barb,  and  I  turned  the  fellow  topsy- 
turvy, showing  up  his  yellow  to  advantage.  He  left  for 
parts  unknown.  There  was  a  small  bass  who  had  strayed 
into  the  community,  whom  I  was  anxious  to  coax  into 
trouble  ;  but  he  lay  off  on  his  dignity,  near  an  old  root, 
to  see  the  fun.  I  moved  my  hook  towards  him.  He  shot 
off  and  turned  head  to,  with  a  no-you-don't  sort  of  air. 
I  took  my  bait  from  the  water  and  spit  on  it,  but  it 
wouldn't  do.  I  took  it  out  again,  and  went  through  an 
incantation  over  it,  but  I  couldn't  catch  him  by  magic  ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt,  reader,  he  is  there  yet. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  91 

Venison,  every  little -while,  dragged  another  and  another 
pickerel  aboard.  Pretty  soon  we  had  Jim  Buzzard  clean- 
ing fish,  and  packing  away  in  a  barrel,  with  a  little 
sprinkling  of  salt. 

I  gathered  in  my  lines,  arose,  and  thanked  the  whole 
tribe  of  fish,  generally  and  particularly,  for  their  attend- 
ance upon  me,  and  promised  not  to  trouble  them  for  a 
month  at  least. 

The  sun  was  waning  low,  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
were  pointing  across  the  river.  The  clouds  in  the  west 
gathered  themselves  into'  all  kinds  of  pictures.  There 
was  a  fleet  of  ships,  all  on  fire,  in  full  sail,  far  out  at  sea ; 
the  fleet  dissolved,  and  a  city  rose  out  of  its  ruins,  filled 
with  temples,  and  'domes,  and  turrets,  and  divided  into 
streets,  up  and  down  which  strange  and  fantastic  figures 
were  hurrying.  The  city  vanished,  and  a  pile  of  huge 
mountains  shot  up  their  rugged  peaks,  around  which 
golden  islands  lay  anchored,  all  glowing  with  light. 
Away  one  side,  I  noticed  a  grave,  corpulent,  and  shad- 
owy old  gentleman,  astride  an  elephant,  smoking  a  pipe, 
and  he  puffed  himself  finally  away  into  the  heavens,  and 
I  have  never  seen  him  since  —  a  solemn  warning  to  per- 
sons who  use  tobacco. 

Venison  said  "  we  had  better  hunt  up  our  camping- 
ground,  for  his  stomach  was  getting  holler,  and  he  wanted 
to  fill  it  up." 

Below  us,  a  sparkling  stream  put  into  the  river.  Just 
above  it,  a  mile  or  so,  lay  a  broad  lake,  which  was  fed 
from  this  same  stream  —  it  came  in  from  the  wilderness. 
We  started  for  this  lake,  and  wound  our  way  up  this 
little  creek  amid  the  struggling  shafts  of  sunlight  that 
hung  over  it.  The  water-fowl  were  hurrying  past  us, 


92  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

towards  the  same  spot,  to  take  up  their  night's  lodging, 
and  we  drove  flocks  of  them  ahead  as  we  crowded  upon 
them.  The  dip  of  our  oars  echoed  among  the  shadows. 
We  reached  our  ground,  unloaded  our  gear,  and  prepared 
for  the  night. 

Venison  directed  Jim  Buzzard  to  build  a  "  stack  "  and 
get  supper.  So,  a  pile  of  stones  was  laid  up,  with  a 
flat  one  across  the  top,  leaving  a  hole  behind  for  the 
smoke  to  escape.  Venison  knocked  over  a  gray  duck  on 
the  lake  with  his  rifle,  and  it  was  not  long  before  we  had 
four  feet  of  pickerel  and  that  self-same  duck  sprawled  out 
on  the  hot  stone,  frying. 

Venison  was  rather  gloomy.  "  This/'  said  he,  "  makes 
me  think  of  times  gone.  I  used  to  camp  here  all  alone, 
years  ago,  when  there  warn't  no  settlers  for  miles.  I 
used  to  catch  otter  and  beaver  and  rat,  arid  sleep  out 
weeks  to  a  time.  But  the  beaver  and  otter  are  gone.7' 

"  Beaver  here  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Why,  not  more'n  nor  a  mile  or  so  up  this  creek,  I've 
killed  piles  on  'em.  Why,  I  seed  a  company  on  'em,  up 
there,  once,  of  two  or  three  hundred.  They  com'd  down 
one  spring  and  clear'd  off  acres  of  ground  that  had  grown 
up  to  birch  saplings,  that  they  wanted  to  build  a  dam 
with,  and  there  they  let  the  trees  lie  until  August.  Then 
they  started  to  build  their  houses  all  over  the  low  water 
in  the  rriash  —  great  houses  four  or  five  feet  through  — 
and  they  work'd  in  companies  of  four  or  five  on  a  house 
till  they  got  'em  done.  You  jist  ought  to  see  'em  carry 
mud  and  stones  between  their  fore-paws  arid  throat,  and 
see  ;em  lay  it  down  and  slap  it  with  their  tails,  like  men 
who  work  with  a  trowel." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "about  those  trees  that  they  cleared 
off?" 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  93 

"  When  they  got  'em  done,  then  they  all  jined  in  to 
build  a  dam,  to  raise  up  the  water,  so't  wouldn't  freeze 
up  the  doors  of  their  houses.  And  then  there  was  a 
time  on't.  You  might  see  'em  by  moonlight,  pitching  in 
the  trees,  and  swimming  down  the  stream  with  'em,  and 
laying  'em  in  the  current  of  the  creek,  like  so  many  boys.77 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  sir !  I  seed  one  night  a  lot  of  beavers  drawing 
one  of  the  biggest  trees  they  had  cut.  It  was  more'ri 
six  inches  through.  They  got  it  part  over  the  bank,  when 
it  stuck  fast.  Jest  the  top  of  the  tree  was  in  the  water, 
and  there  were  four  or  five  on  ;em  sousing  round  in  the 
water,  pulling  this  way  and  that,  and  as  many  more  on 
the  bank  jerking  at  it,  until  byme-by  it  went  in  ker- 
swash ;  the  beavers  all  took  hold  on't,  then,  and  towed 
it  to  the  dam." 

"  And  so  they  really  built  a  dam  ?  " 

"A  dam  three  feet  high,  and  forty  or  fifty  long  — 
all  laid  up  with  birch  trees,  and  mud  and  stones,  so 
tight  'tain't  gone  yet.  The  beaver  have  gone  long  ago, 
but  the  dam  hain't." 

"  How  did  you  catch  'em  ?  "  said  I. 

"  When  the  fur  is  good,  in  the  winter,  we  jest  went 
round  with  our  ice-chisels  and  knocked  their  houses  to 
pieces,  when-  away  they  would  go  for  their  washes,  as 
we  used  to  call  'em,  where  we  fastened  'em  in  and 
catch'd  'em." 

"  Washes  ?  what  are  they  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Holes  the  beavers  dig  in  the  bank,  partly  under 
water,  where  they  can  run  in  and  breathe  without  being 
seen." 

Venisou  was  going  on  to  tell  me  how  many  beaver 


94  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

skins  he  got,  but  the  duck  and  fish  were  done,  and  had 
been  divided  up  by  Jim  Buzzard,  and  handsomely  laid 
out  on  a  piece  of  clean  bark,  ready  to  eat. 

We  ranged  ourselves  in  a  row,  squat  upon  the  ground 
like  so  many  Turks,  drew  our  hunting-knives,  and  went 
to  work.  I  looked  out  upon  the  lake  that  lay  like  a 
looking-glass,  draped  with  gauze,  at  my  feet.  Day  was 
dying  over  it  like  a  strain  of  music.  One  slender  bar 
of  light  lay  trembling  along  its  eastern  shore.  By  and 
by  it  crept  up  the  bank  ;  from  that  to  a  mound  behind, 
and  from  which  it  took  a  leap  to  a  hill  a  mile  distant, 
where  it  faded  and  faded  into  twilight.  The  water-fowl 
were  screaming  among  the  flags,  and  I  noticed  a  belated 
hawk  winging  his  way  through  the  air  on  high,  to  his 
home  in  the  forest.  I  could  almost  hear  the  winnowing 
of  his  wings  in  the  silent  sky.  A  chick-a-dee-dee  came 
bobbing  and  winding  down  an  oak  near  me,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  coaxing  a  supper.  The  trees  began  to  assume 
uncertain  shapes  —  the  arms  of  the  oaks  stretched  out 
longer  and  longer.  The  new  moon  grew  brighter  and 
brighter  in  the  west.  There  it  hung,  looking  down  into 
the  lake.  The  river  sent  up  its  hollow  roar,  the  mists 
settled  thicker  and  thicker,  and  solemn  night  at  last  came 
down  over  the  wilderness. 

After  I  had  finished  my  watch  of  departing  day,  I 
looked  around  for  my  company.  "  Jim  "  had  been 
stuffing  himself  for  the  last  half  hour,  until  he  had 
grown  as  stupid  as  an  over-fed  anaconda.  His  jaws 
were  moving  very  slowly  over  the  bone  of  a  duck  — 
his  eyes  were  drowsy  —  and  every  now  and  then  he 
heaved  a  long-drawn  sigh  —  a  kind  of  melancholy  groan 
over  his  inability  to  eat  any  more. 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  95 

Venison  said  "  we  must  build  up  our  night  fire  to 
keep  off  the  varmints/'  and  accordingly  we  reared  a 
pile  of  brush  of  logs,  set  it  a-going,  made  up  our  bed 
of  withered  leaves,  ranged  ourselves  in  a  circle  with 
our  feet  turned  to  the  blaze,  and  were  soon  lost  in  sleep. 

Morn  broke  over  us  lovely  as  ever.  As  the  first  gray 
streaks  began  to  rnelt  away,  Venison  roused  up  to  get  a 
deer  for  breakfast.  We  went  out  on  to  a  run-way,  hid 
ourselves  in  the  bushes,  and  soon  a  large  buck,  his 
antlers  swung  aloft,  came  snuffing  and  cracking  along 
over  the  leaves,  on  his  way  to  the  lake  to  take  his  morn- 
ing drink.  Pop  !  and  over  he  went,  and  soon  his  "  sad- 
dles "  were  taken  out  and  carried  into  camp,  our  stack 
started,  and  breakfast  prepared! 

Another  day  was  loitered  away  among  the  fish  — 
another  day,  beautiful  as  the  last,  we  floated  over  the 
lake,  and  threaded  the  stream  that  poured  into  it.  At 
night  we  found  ourselves  safely  moored  at  Puddleford, 
our  boat  loaded  with  fish,  and  my  soul  filled  with  a  thou- 
sand beautiful  pictures  of  nature,  that  hang  there  winter 
and  summer,  as  bright  and  lovely  as  life  itself. 


96  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Educational  Efforts.  — -  Squire  Longbow's  "Notis."  —  "  The  Sater- 
day  Nite." —  Ike  and  the  Squire.  —  Various  Remarks  to  the 
Point.  —  Mrs.  Fizzle  and  the  Temperance  Question.  —  Collection 
taken.  —  General  Kesult. 

THERE  has  been  much  written  in  the  world  about  the 
benefits  of  education.  I  am  very  sure  that  its  im- 
portance was  not  overlooked  in  Puddleford.  I  cannot 
say  that  the  village  has  ever  produced  giants  in  litera- 
ture, but  it  has  produced  great  men,  comparatively 
speaking  and  judging,  and  very  great  if  we  take  the 
opinion  of  the  Puddlefordians  themselves.  Somebody 
once  said  that  "  in  the  kingdom  of  the  blind,  the  one- 
eyed  are  moriarchs,"  and  I  suppose  it  was  upon  this 
principle,  if  we  give  the  maxim  a  literal  construction, 
that  Squire  Longbow,  who  had  lost  an  eye,  as  the  reader 
may  recollect,  had  become  elevated  to  such  a  pitch  among 
his  neighbors. 

Education,  in  almost  every  western  community,  stands 
at  about  a  certain  level  among  the  masses.  That  level 
changes  with  changing  generations,  but  very  seldom 
among  individuals  of  the  same.  I  ought  perhaps  to  ex- 
clude the  Squire,  who  was  an  exception  to  all  general 
rules,  and  would  have  undoubtedly  distinguished  himself 
anywhere  and  under  any  circumstances.  The  children 
of  the  pioneer,  or  a  portion  of  them,  receive  educational 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  97 

advantages,  which  had  been  denied  the  father,  and  their 
children  still  greater,  until  at  last  the  polished  statue 
rises  out  of  the  marble  in  the  quarry. 

But  there  were  efforts  making  at  Puddleford,  about  the 
time  I  allude  to,  to  increase  the  common  stock  of  knowl- 
edge, and  keep  up  the  general  reputation  of  Puddleford 
with  that  of  the  world,  which  ought  not  to  pass  un- 
noticed. 

'One  day  in  November,  I  discovered  the  following 
notice  posted  up  in  the  streets,  and  nailed  to  several 
trees  adjacent  to  the  highways  in  the  country :  — 

"NOTIS 

"To  all  it  may  konsaru  —  men,  wimmin,  and  their 
children.  Whareas,  edication,  and  knowlidg  of  all  sorts, 
is  very  likely  to  run  down  in  all  knew  countrys,  owin  to 
a  great  manny  reasons  that  aint  propper  to  go  into  this 
ere  notis  —  and  whareas  many  of  the  habitants  of  Pud- 
dleford and  the  circumjacint  country  all  round  bout  it, 
are  in  danger  of  suffering  that  way  —  Arid  whareas  a  few 
of  us  leading  men  have  thot  on  the  matter,  and  concluded 
that  sumthing  must  very  soon  be  did,  or  til  be  too  late  — 
therefore  a  meeting  will  be  held  at  the  log-chapel  next 
Saterday  nite,  to  raise  up  the  karacter  of  the  people  in 
this  respect. 

(Signed.)  '  SQUIRE  LONGBOW 

And  others.' ; 

On  the  "  Saterday  nite,"  mentioned  in  the  above 
"  notis/7  I  attended  at  the  log-chapel,  for  the  purpose  of 
raising  up  the  "karacter  of  the  people."  The  gathering 


98  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

was  large  —  made  up  of  men  and  women,  and  quite  a 
number  were  in  from  the  country.  Squire  Longbow,  the 
"  Colonel/'  "  Stub  Bulliphant  "  the  landlord  of  the  Eagle, 
Ike  Turtle  the  pettifogger,  Sile  Bates  his  opponent, 
Charity  Beadle,  Philista  Filkins,  "  Aunt  Graves/7  "  Sister 
Abigail/7  Sonora  Brown,  and  a  large  number  of  others, 
made  up  the  meeting.  It  was  very  evident  that  some- 
thing would  be  done.  Pretty  soon  Ike  Turtle  rose,  gave 
a  loud  rap  with  his  fist  on  the  side  of  the  house,  and  said 
it  was  "  high  time  this  ere  body  came  to  order,  and  he 
would  nominate  Squire  Longbow  for  President/7 

"  You've  heerd  the  nomination/7  continued  the  Squire, 
rising  slowly  from  his  seat  in  another  part  of  the  house. 
"  You  who  are  in  my  favor  say  Ay  !  " 

"  Ay  !  "  exclaimed  the  house. 

"  Clear  vote  —  no  use  in  putting  the  noes  ;  77  and  Squire 
Longbow  took  his  stand  in  the  pulpit,  and  proceeded:  — 

"  Feller-citizens,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  on  you  who 
are  here,  just  keep  still  while  I  thank  you.  We  have 
cum  up  here  on  a  pretty  big  business  —  neither  more  nor 
less  than  edication.  P7raps  you  don7t  all  on  you  know 
that  edication  makes  everybody  and  everything  —  it 
made  our  forefathers,  it  made  some  of  us,  and  is  a  going 
to  make  our  children,  if  we  do  our  duty.  You  have  made 
me  President  on  this  occasion,  arid  it  is  my  duty  to  thank 
you,  and  feller-citizens,  you  don7t,  you  can7t,  no  man  can 
tell  how  I  feel  when  —  " 

Here  Ike  Turtle  rose.  "  Squire  Longbow/7  said  Ike, 
"  arn7t  it  rather  on-parliamentary  to  be  speaking  when 
you  hain7t  got  no  secretary  to  take  things  down?  " 

The  Squire  was  thunderstruck.  "  No  secretary  !  77  he 
exclaimed,  "  no  secretary  !  all  void  !  but  I'll  appoint  Sile 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  99 

Bates  secretary  tunk  pro  nunck  (nunc  pro  tune),  as  we 
say  in  law,  and  that'll  save  proceedings  —  and  as  I  was 
saying,"  continued  the  Squire,  "  no  man  can  tell  how  I 
feel,  pressed  down  as  I  am  with  the  responsibility  that  you 
have  thrown  on  to  me."  The  Squire  then  took  his  seat. 
Ike  Turtle  rose  again  to  state  the  object  of  the  meet- 
ing. He  said  "he  was  an  old  residenter,  and  he  had  ia 
fact  grown  up  with  the  country.  He  had  seed  everything 
go  ahead  except  edication.  Taking  out  the  President, 
members  of  the  larned  professions,  the  school-master, 
and  the  man  who  tended  Clewes'  grocery,  there  warn't 
hardly  a  person  of  edication  left.  Now,"  continued  Ike, 
warming  up,  "this  shouldn't  orter  be — we  should  all 
set  about  de  tar  mined  to  do  something  ('Amen!' 
groaned  Father  Beals.)  Why,  if  it  looks  dark,  feller- 
citizens,  remember  the  dark  days  of  the  revolution,  when 
the  soldiers  went  roaming  about,  with  a  piece  of  corn- 
bread  in  one  hand,  nothing  in  t'other,  with  ragged  uni- 
forms on,  and  little  or  no  breeches,  yet  all  the  while  bust- 
ing with  patriotism.  Jest  turn  your  eyes  backwards  on 
to  them  times,  and  you'll  think  you're  in  paradise. 
Something's  got  to  be  did  for  edication.  We've  got  to 
have  a  Lyceum,  a  library,  and  lecters  on  all  the  subjects 
of  the  day.  (Here  '  Aunt  Graves  '  gave  a  groan,  as  she 
expected  all  this  would  be  accomplished  by  taxation.) 
Don't  groan  over  yender,"  exclaimed  Ike,  "  'taint  right 
to  groan  at  a  new  thing  just  a-starting* —  might  as  well 
groan  down  a  child  for  fear  he  wouldn't  be  a  man.  Yea, 
they  must  be  had  —  I  say  they  must  !  or  we'll  all  run  to 
seed,  and  die.  Why,  Christopher  Columbus,  men  and 
women,  how  many  on  you  don't  know  your  right  hand 
from  your  left,  scientifically  speaking,  and  byme-by  we 


100  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

shall  go  to  ruin  as  old  Nineveh  did.  Mr.  President.  I 
move  that  a  collection  be  taken  for  the  gineral  purposes 
of  this  meeting.77 

1  was  a  little  puzzled  to  determine  whether  Ike  was 
serious  or  not.  With  all  his  eccentricities,  he  was  a 
good  citizen,  and  always  put  his  shoulder  to  the  public 
wheel.  When  he  made  his  motion  to  take  up  a  collec- 
tion, a  dead  calm  fell  upon  the  audience.  After  a  few 
moments,  Sile  Bates  rose,  and  said,  — 

He  "  hoped  this  7spectablo  meeting  warn't  going  to 
Peter-out.77 

The  calm  continued.  Squire  Longbow  stepped  for- 
ward from  his  seat  in  the  pulpit,  and  remarked  that  "  he 
couldn7t  see  what  difference  it  would  make  a  thousand 
years  hence  whether  they  did  anything,  or  whether  they 
didn7t.77 

A  man  from  the  country  "  didn7t  know  what  money 
had  to  do  with  edication." 

The  Colonel  said  his  pockets  were  "  as  dry  as  a 
powder-house.77 

One  old  lady  thought  "  somebody7d  have  to  sign  for 
her  7fore  spring.77 

Aunt  Graves  thought  that  "poor  folks,  who  lived  on 
bil'd  vittels,  hadn7t  orter  be  called  on.77 

The  hat  was,  however,  passed  around,  and  three  dol- 
lars and  seventy-five  cents  raised,  "  for  the  gineral  pur- 
poses of  the  meeting,77  according  to  Ike7s  motion  ;  and  I 
will  say  here  that  this  amount  was  appropriated  towards 
the  purchase  of  books  for  the  Puddleford  library,  which 
was  established  at  this  meeting,  and  which  has  now 
grown  into  usefulness  and  importance. 

The  hat  was  reached  up  to  the  secretary,  who  gave  it 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  10 1 

a  couple  of  shakes,  declaring1  at  the  same  time,  that  he 
was  "  happy  to  say  that  the  public  spirit  of  Puddleford 
hadn't  gin  out  yet." 

Squire  Longbow  then  rose  and  said,  that  "  some 
plan  must  be  laid  to  get  up  a  set  of  lectors.  There  were 
three  great  sciences,  law,  preaching,  and  physic — law 
consarned  property,  physic  consarned  the  body,  and 
preaching  consarned  the  soul.  These  sciences  must  be 
scattered,  so  everybody  could  enjoy  'em.  lie  could 
talk  on  law  himself,  and  Bigelow  could  on  preaching, 
and  physic  was  understood,  any  way.  There  were  other 
subjects  which  would  come  up  in  their  order.  There 
was  paintin'j  and  poetry,  and  music  —  but  them  warn't 
of  no  account  in  a  new  country  where  money  was  skase. 
Politics  was  one  of  the  uncertain  sciences,  and  it  didn't 
do  much  good  to  speak  on't,  any  how.  A  feller  might 
study  and  study,  and  just  likely  as  not  the  next  election 
would  blow  him  into  fiddle-strings.  Yet  politics  had  got 
to  be  had,  'cause  that  was  what  kept  the  country  alive, 
and  made  liberty  grow.  Old  Gineral  Washington  him- 
self had  a  little  on't.  He  said  'twas  one  etarnal  job  to 
start  edication,  but  jist  get  the  thing  a-goin  once,  and  it'll 
move  off  like  ile — it'll  run  rite  off  like  a  steam  injin." 

Ike  said  "  he  know'd  a  curtain  lecter  or  two  might  be 
had,"  looking  round  at  Stub  Bulliphunt.  "  They  warn't 
the  worst  kind  nother.  They'd  bring  a  man  all  up  stand- 
in',  when  nothin'  else  would.  He'd  seen  a  fellow  cave 
right  in  under  one  on  'em,  and  come  out  as  cow'd  as  a 
whipt  spaniel.  About  lecterin'  on  politics,  he  didn't 
know.  He  guessed  the  bushes  were  a  little  too  thick  to 
talk  on  that,  yet.  He  hoped  the  meetin'  would  speak 
right  out,  and  'spress  their  feelin's,  wimmin  and  all." 


102  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

Old  Mrs.  Fizzle  had  been  watching  the  movement  of 
this  august  body  for  some  time,  and  had  thought,  several 
times,  that  it  was  her  duty  to  speak.  When  Ike,  there- 
fore, invited  "women  and  all,"  she  concluded  to  try  it. 
She  was  a  tall,  weasel-faced  looking  person,  and  belonged 
to  Bigelow's  church.  She  was  an  out-and-out  temper- 
ance woman,  and  had  kept  all  Puddleford  hot  by  her 
efforts  to  put  down  the  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks.  She 
was  a  fiery,  nervous,  active,  good  sort  of  a  woman. 
Mrs.  Fizzle  rose.  She  said  "she  thought  she  would  give 
this  meetin'  a  piece  of  her  mind,  consarnin'  things  in 
general.  She  didn't  know  but  the  meetin'  was  well 
enough  —  she  liked  meeting  —  she  said  she  didn't  care 
riuthin'  about  politics,  never  did  her  any  good  as  she 
know'd  on  —  she  didn't  want  to  hear  any  lecters  any 
way  'bout  that.  If  some  on  'cm  would  talk  'bout  tem- 
perance, she'd  turn  out,  and  give  a  little  something  to 
help  the  cause  along.  She  said  if  she  really  thought  that 
this  meetin'  could  stop  Clewes  from  selling  licker,  she'd 
tend  it  reg'lar." 

"  Certainly,  ma'am/'  said  Ike,  rising,  and  turning  his 
eyes  towards  Mrs.  Fizzle.  "  \Ve'll  put  a  Tiabus  corpus 
on  to  him  'fore  breakfast  to-morrow  morning." 

Mrs.  Fizzle  said,  "  she  didn't  know  what  that  was, 
and  she  didn't  care  much,  if  'twould  only  hold  him 
tight." 

Ike  said  "it  would  hold  him  —  couldn't  break  it  no 
how  —  it  was  made  by  the  law  to  catch  just  such  chaps 
with." 

"  Wai,"  said  Mrs.  Fizzle,  "if  the  law  made  it,  I'm 
'/raid  ori't.  I've  hearn  tell  how  folks  creep  through 
holes  the  law  leaves!  I  don't  like  your  scorpus,  as  you 
call  it." 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  103 

Squire  Longbow  rose.  "  lie  felt  it  his  duty  to  say, 
that  a  writ  of  habus  scorpus  would  hold  anything  on 
airth.  It  was  one  of  the  biggest  writs  in  all  nater.  He 
could  hold  all  Clewes'  grocery  with  one  on  'em.  He  felt 
it  his  duty  further  to  say  this  as  a  magistrate,  who  was 
bound  by  his  oath  to  take  care  of  the  law." 

Mrs.  Fizzle  "  thought  that  would  do.  She  had  great 
'spect  for  the  Squire's  opinion  —  and  she  now  thought 
she'd  go  in  for  the  meetin'." 

Sile  Bates  said,  "for  his  part,  he  thought  the  meetin' 
was  getting  a  good  deal  mixed.  '  Every  tub  orter  stand 
on  its  own  bottom/  as  the  Apostle  Paul,  Shakspeare, 
John  Bunyan,  or  some  other  person  said.  We  can't  do 
everything  all  at  onst ;  if  we  try,  we  can't  make  the 
Millennium  come  until  'tis  time  for't.  We  can  kinder 
straighten  up  matters — hold  onto  the  public  morals  a 
little  more  —  and  give  edication  a  punch  ahead.  But 
who  knows  anything  about  the  sciences  in  Puddleford  ? 
and  who  can  lecter  ?  'When  the  blind  lead  the  blind,' 
as  the  newspapers  say,  '  they  all  go  head  over  heels  into 
the  ditch.'  Great  Caesar  Augustus,  Mr.  President,  jist 
think  of  a  lecter  on  'stronomy,  that  etarnal  science,  which 
no  man  can  lay  his  hands  on,  which  the  human  intellect 
gets  at  by  figuring.  Just  think  of  Bigelovv  Van  Slyck, 
Ike  Turtle,  or  you,  Mr.  President,  measuring  the  distance 
to  the  stars.  Don't  it  make  your  head  swim,  to  think 
on't  ?  He  wouldn't  say  that  the  Squire  couldn't  lay  down 
the  law  for  the  people,  'cause  he  made  most  ori't,  and 
ought  to  know  it  by  heart.  (The  Squire  gave  a  loud 
cough,  and  straightened  himself  in  his  seat.)  As  for 
licker,  he  always  loas  agin  it,  that  is,  he  never  touch'd  it 
except  in  haying,  harvesting,  husking,  and  occasionally, 


104  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

a  little  along,  between,  when  he  didn't  feel  right.  lie 
s'posed  he  was  a  strict  temperance  man  —  was  secretary 
of  a  teetotal  society  once,  but  it  died  out  for  want  of 
funds  to  keep  up  lights  and  fires.  He  hop'd  this  meetin' 
wouldn't  get  so  much  on  its  shoulders,  as  to  break  down 
'fore  it  got  started." 

There  were  several  more  speeches  and  suggestions 
made.  There  were  two  or  three  on  the  floor  at  once, 
several  times,  during  the  -progress  of  business.  Order 
was  out  of  the  question.  A  course  of  lectures  was  finally 
decided  upon,  and  the  meeting  adjourned.  The  reader 
will  not  forget  that  the  end  had  in  view  by  this  rough, 
deliberate  body  was  noble  ;  and,  in  their  own  way,  they 
moved  along  steadily  towards  it.  Such  a  people  do  not 
forget  their  duty,  however  ludicrously  the  discharge  of  it 
may  be  at  first. 

Looking  back  from  the  present,  over  a  period  of  ten 
years,  at  the  proceedings  of  this  meeting  and  its  results, 
I  feel  quite  disposed  to  write  down  Squire  Longbow, 
Ike  Turtle,  and  Sile  Bates,  among  the  philanthropists  of 
the  age. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  105 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Social  War.  — Longbow,  Turtle  &  Co.  — Bird,  Swipes,  Beagle  &  Co. 
Mrs.  Bird. — Mrs.  Beagle.  —  Mrs.  Swipes  —  Turkey  and  Aristoc- 
racy. —  Scandal.  —  Husking-bees,  and  "  such  like."  —  The  Cala- 
tlmmpian  Band.  — The  Horse-fiddle.  —  The  Giant  Trombone.  — 
The  Gyastacutas. — Tuning  up. — Unparalleled  Effort.  —  Pud- 
dleford  still  a  representative  Place. 

I  HAVE  taken  the  liberty,  in  the  preceding  chapters, 
to  speak  freely  of  some  of  the  leading  characters  of 
Puddleford.  I  have  alluded  to  Longbow,  Turtle,  and 
Bigelow,  not  because  they  were  the  only  people  of  the 
village,  or  the  best ;  but  because  they  were  the  rudder 
of  society,  and  steered  it  along  in  the  same  way  that 
ships  are  guided  over  stormy  waters.  Now,  there  were 
a  great  many  more  very  excellent  folks,  who  helped  chink 
in  and  fill  up  around  these  more  important  personages, 
and  make  up  an  harmonious  whole.  Zeke  Bird,  the  black- 
smith, was  one  ;  Tom  Beagle,  the  shoemaker,  another  ; 
Lem  Swipes,  the  tailor,  still  another.  These  men  were 
among  the  first  settlers  of  Puddleford,  and  had  done  as 
much  towards  its  up-building  as  any  other.  They  had 
immigrated  from  a  place  in  Ohio,  and  consequently  knew 
something  about  the  world.  A\\  three  families  were 
cousins,  or  second  cousins,  to  one  another,  and  they 
acted  in  unison  upon  any  public  or  social  question. 

They  hated,  with  a  supreme  hatred,  Longbow,  Turtle 


106  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

&  Co.,  because  they  were  "aristocrats."  Mrs..  Bird, 
who  was  a  very  impulsive,  peak-nosed  sort  of  a  woman, 
and  who  alwa}7s  wore  a  red  flannel  petticoat  protruding 
beyond  her  dress,  and  her  shoes  slip-shod,  used  to  often 
gay,  "  that  if  there  was  anything  she  did  despise  it  was 
a  stick-up.  She  didn't  believe  old  Mrs.  Longbow,  or  any 
of  her  darters,  were  any  better  than  common  folks  ;  and 
she'd  see  the  whole  pack  on  'em  pumpin'  lightning  at 
two  cents  a  clap,  before  she'd  skrouch  to  'em  !  " 

Mrs.  Beagle  was  quite  a  different  body.  She  was  not 
so  full  of  fire  and  fury  as  Mrs.  Bird.  She  didn't  allow 
her  feelings  to  get  the  advantage  of  her  malice.  She 
moved  more  underground  ;  yet  she  was  always  busy  peck- 
ing away  at  that  "  up-street  clique/'  as  she  called  them. 

Mrs.  Beagle  was  a  neat,  tidy  body,  and  wore  an  air 
of  great  sincerity  about  her  face.  She  used  to  say  that 
"nothing  grieved  her  so  much  as  to  be  compelled  to  be- 
lieve anything  bad  'bout  her  neighbors/'  and  that  "  she 
never  spoke  of  nothing  till  it  got  all  over,  arid  there 
warn 't  no  use  of  holding  in  any  longer."  She  made  it 
her  business  to  watch  the  morals  arid  religion  of  all  the 
Longbows,  and  Turtleses,  and  Bateses,  and  report  ac- 
cordingly. She  said  "she  didn't  know  but  it  was  all 
right  for  a  member  of  the  Methodist  church,  like  Miss 
Lavinia  Turtle,  to  wear  three  bows  to  her  bonnet  on  Sun- 
day—  she  didn't  know  —  she  warn't  going  to  say  — 
;haps  she  hadn't  orter  say  —  but  the  way  she  looked  at 
religion,  'twas  as  wicked  as  Cain  —  for  herself,  she  made 
no  pretensions,  but  when  folks  did,  she  wanted  to  see 
'em  lived  up  to."  She  said,  "she  meant  to  have  Mrs. 
Bates  turned  out  of  the  church  for  riding  out  on  Sunday, 
for  she'd  seen  her  several  times  with  her  own  eyes,  six 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  107 

miles  from  town ;  but  she  wouldn't  speak  of  it,  if  it 
wanrt  such  a  scandal  on  her  profession  ;  "  besides,  she 
had  it  from  good  authority,  that  "she  watered  her  milk 
'fore  she  sold  it,  but  she  wouldn't  say  who  told  her,  'cause 
she  promised  not  to." 

Mrs.  Swipes  was  a  fat,  blouzy-faced,  coarse,  ignorant 
woman,  and  revenged  herself  by  firing  bomb-shells  into  the 
aristocratic  camp  every  opportunity  she  could  get,  and 
cared  but  little  what  she  said,  or  whom  she  hit,  if  she 
could  only  keep  the  enemy  stirred  up.  "  She'd  heard 
that  Mrs.  Longbow's  father  got  into  jail  once  down  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  that  the  hull  batch  on  'em  were  as 
poor  as  Job's  turke}'  ;  and  that  the  old  Squire  himself 
had  a  pretty  tight  nip  on't ;  but  his  friends  bailed  him 
out,  and  he  lean'd  for  the  west.  As  for  Mrs.  Bates,  she 
knew  she'd  lie,  right  flat  out  —  she'd  catch'd  her  dozens 
of  times ;  and,  of  course,  Lavinia  couldn't  be  any  better 
—  for  as  the  old  cock  crows,  the  young  one  learns.  She 
wouldn't  swap  characters  with  any  on  'em,  not  she." 

The  husbands  of  these  ladies  thought  just  about  as 
much  of  Longbow  &  Co.  as  their  wives  did.  They  were 
an  indolent  trio,  and  labored  only  enough  to  keep  soul 
and  body  together.  The  rest  of  their  time  was  devoted 
to  the  "  Eagle  tavern,"  street-lounging,  and  commentaries 
upon  the  daily  developments  of  the  aristocracy.  Each 
one  of  the  families  of  these  cliques  were  social  centres, 
around  which  others  revolved,  and  drew  all  their  light 
and  heat.  And  then  there  were  still  other  families,  away 
down  below  the  Birds  and  Beagles  in  the  scale  of  respec* 
tability,  who  were  ever  warring  upon  them, -proving 

"  That  fleas  have  other  fleas  to  bite  'cm, 
And  so  on,  ad  injinitum." 


108  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

I  recollect  attending  a  party,  one  evening  during  the 
winter,  at  Bird's,  when  the  aristocracy  took  a  regular 
broadside  fire.  It  scerned  that  Longbow,  some  days  pre- 
vious, had  a  turkey  on  his  table  for  dinner,  which  roused 
up  all  the  wrath  of  his  adversaries.  Mrs.  Bird  said, 
"  she  really  s'posed  that  he  thought  poor  people  couldn't 
have  such  things  ;  but  she'd  let  him  know  she'd  lived  on 
turke}Ts  before  he  ever  know'd  there  was  such  a  thing  — 
and  she  had  good  sass  with  'em  too.  Mrs.  Longbow," 
she  said,  "  cooked  it  for  nothing  in  the  world  but  to 
make  her  knuckle  to  her  ;  but  she'd  never  give  in  as  long 
as  she  drew  the  breath  of  life  —  that  she  wouldn't !  " 

Mrs.  Sonora  Brown  said,  "that  warn't  all  —  Longbow 
had  bo't  a  bran  new  carpet  for  down-stairs,  and  used 
sales-molasses  for  common,  eenamost  every  day  • —  and 
the  clark  in  Clewes'  grocery  had  got  a  goin'  arter  La- 
vinny  every  night  —  and  Mrs.  Longbow  had  got  mift  at 
Mrs.  Weazel,  because  Weazel  said  he  wouldn't  stand 
any  more  of  Longbow's  decisions  —  and  they'd  got  a 
burning  sperm  ile  in  the  house  instead-er  taller  —  and 
they  were  a  puttin'  on  the  drefulest  sight  of  airs,  old 
woman  and  all,  that  ever  was  seen." 

Mrs.  Beagle  said  "it  was  all  true  about  the  ile  —  she 
see'd  it  burn  through  the  winder  —  and  she'd  seen  a  great 
many  more  things  through  the  winder — but  she  warn't 
a  going  to  tell  what  they  were  !  " 

Mrs.  Sonora  Brown  threw  up  her  hands  in  horror,  and 
said,  "  she  had  always  suspected  it,  but  darsn't  say  so." 

"  0,  shaw  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beagle  ;  "  that's  nothing 
to  Bates'  wife  ;  she  walks  out  arm-in-arm  in  broad  day- 
light with  her  cousin  that's  been  sneaking  round  there 
on  a  visit."  She  said,  "  Puddleford  used  to  be  a  'spect- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  109 

able  village,  but  there  warn't  any  morals  any  more  since 
these  high-flyers  had  got  into  it  —  arid  she  guess'd  Bates7 
wife  was  flaring  out,  and  trading  at  the  stores  as  much 
as  Longbow. " 

Mr.  Bird  very  grumly  said,  "  he'd  better  hold  in,  for 
if  he  didn't  hist  a  little  note  he  had  again'  him  'fore  long, 
he'd  sue  him  to  judgment,  and  level  an  execution  on  ev- 
erything he  had,  and  clean  him  out." 

A  yellow-looking  woman,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  and  who 
had  just  before  remarked  that  "  she'd  had  the  shakin7 
ager  onto  her  all  winter,"  wanted  to  know  if  "  the  new 
marchant  was  going  to  jine  the  upper  crust,  or  be  one 
of  our  folks." 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  all  were  rattling 
away  together,  so  that  nothing  but  the  emphatic  words 
could  be  distinguished.  Artillery,  fire-arms,  and  all,  were 
blazing.  Such  a  scorching  as  the  aristocracy  received 
had  hardly  ever  been  equalled. 

Longbow  &  Co.  did  not  care  for  their  enemies.  They 
rather  felt  proud  of  the  notice  bestowed  upon  them.  Ike 
Turtle  used  to  say,  "  'twas  fun  to  stand  and  take  the  fire 
of  fools  ;  "  but  Squire  Longbow's  dignity  was  so  pro- 
found, that  he  never  permitted  himself  to  know  that 
there  was  really  any  war  going  on. 

Society  in  the  country,  among  the  farmers,  was  quite 
another  thing.  Puddleford  village  had  a  country,  and 
village  pride  looked  down  upon  it,  just  as  it  does  in 
larger  places.  The  amusements  and  frolics  of  the  coun- 
try were  more  simple  and  hearty.  In  the  winter,  husk- 
ing-bees,  apple-parings,  and  house-warmings  were  held 
every  week  at  some  of  the  farm-houses.  Great  piles  of 
corn  were  stacked  up  in  barn,  the  girls  and  boys  invited 


110  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

in  for  miles  around,  long  poles  run  through  strung  with 
lanterns,  and  the  husking  rushed  through,  'mid  songs 
and  jokes.  Then  all  hands  adjourned  to  the  house,  and 
drank  "  hot  stuff,"  ate  nuts,  and  played  games,  and 
stormed  around,  until  they  started  the  very  shingles  on 
the  roof;  while  the  great  fireplace,  piled  up  with  logs 
into  the  very  throat  of  the  chimney,  shook  its  shadows 
around  the  room  in  defiance  of  the  winds  that  roared 
without. 

Now  and  then  the  country  quality  held  a  regular 
blow-out  at  Bulliphant's  tavern.  On  these  occasions, 
dancing  commenced  at  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  ended 
at  daylight  next  morning.  Dry  goods  and  perfumery 
suffered  about  those  days.  The  girls  and  boys  dressed 
their  hair  with  oil  of  cinnamon  and  wintergreen,  and  the 
Eagle  smelt  like  an  essence  shop.  It  fairly  overpowered 
the  stench  of  Bulliphant's  whiskey-bottles.  Every  one 
rigged  out  to  within  an  inch  of  their  lives.  The  girls 
wore  ruffles  on  their  pantalets  frizzled  down  over  their 
shoes,  nearly  concealing  the  whole  foot ;  and  all  kinds 
and  colors  of  ribbons  streamed  from  their  heads  and 
waists.  The  "boys"  mounted  shirt-collars  without  re- 
gard to  expense,  and  flaunted  out  their,  brass  breast-pins, 
two  or  more  to  each,  with  several  feet  of  watch-chain 
jingling  in  front.  The  landlord  of  the  Eagle  termed 
these  gatherings  his  "  winter  harvest." 

Another  amusement,  frequent  in  the  country,  was  the 
turnout  of  the  "  Calathumpian  Band."  The  band,  I  am 
aware,  did  not  originate  with  Puddleford.  Newly-mar- 
ried couples  were  serenaded  before  it  ever  had  an  existence 
there.  But  this  band  was  one  of  the  very  finest  speci- 
mens. No  one  knew  exactly  who  its  members  were ; 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  \\\ 

but  they  were  always  on  hand,  soon  after  a  wedding,  in 
full  uniform,  with  all  their  instruments  in  order.  It 
was  organized  when  the  country  was  very  new,  and 
was,  at  the  period  I  refer  to,  in  the  highest  state  of  pros- 
perity. 

One  of  its  instruments  was  called  the  "  horse-fiddle  ;  " 
another  the  "  giant  trombone  ;  ;;  another  the  "  gyastacu- 
tas."  The  "  horse-fiddle "  was  two  enormous  bows, 
made  of  hoops,  heavily  stringed  and  rosined,  with  a  beef- 
bladder,  fully  inflated,  pushed  between  the  string  and  the 
bow.  The  "great  trombone"  was  a  dry  goods  box, 
turned  bottom-side  up,  and  was  played  upon  with  a 
scantling  eight  or  ten  feet  long.  The  edge  of  the  box 
and  the  scantling  were  rosined,  and  it  was  worked  by 
two  men  sawing  up  and  down.  The  "  gyastacutas  ''  was 
a  nail  keg,  with  a  raw  hide  strained  over  it,  like  a  drum- 
head, and  inside  of  the  keg,  attached  to  the  centre  of 
this  drum-head,  a  string  hung,  with  which  this  instru- 
ment was  worked  by  pulling  in  the  string  and  "  let  fly." 

Besides  all  these,  the  band  were  supplied  with  dinner 
horns,  conch-shells,  sleigh-bells,  and  sometimes  guns  and 
pistols. 

It  assembled,  usually  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night, 
around  the  quarters  of  the  newly-married  couple,  and 
within  a  day  or  two  after  marriage.  Its  members  were 
dressed  up  like  an  army  of  scare-crows.  Some  wore 
their  shirts  outside,  some  their  coats  and  vests  buttoned 
behind,  and  some  were  attired  in  female  dress.  Its  leader 
marched  and  countermarched  this  strange  medley,  arid 
announced  and  conducted  all  the  music.  The  band  never 
moved  without  orders  —  it  was  thoroughly  disciplined. 


112  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

The  instruments  were  first  put  in  tune.  The  trombone 
gave  out  a  low  and  heavy  growl  —  the  "  gyastacutas," 
a  bung  !  the  horse-fiddle  sullenly  replied  —  a  chink-chink 
from  a  few  pairs  of  bells,  and  a  toot-e-toot  from  the  horns 
and  shells,  showed  the  blast  was  near  at  hand. 

And  such  a  blast !  The  infernal  regions  could  riot  equal 
it.  It  roared  and  echoed  for  miles  around.  It  fairly 
tore  out  the  inside  of  one's  head.  The  cows  bellowed 
and  the  dogs  barked,  honestly  believing  that  the  dissolu- 
tion of  all  things  was  at  hand.  The  whole  surrounding 
population  roused  up,  for  no  person  pretended  to  sleep 
when  the  Great  Calathumpian  Band  was  assembled. 

The  reader  must  not  suppose  that  this  band  was  a 
mere  congregation  of  boys.  Not  by  any  means  ;  it  was 
one  of  the  institutions  of  the  country  —  one  of-  the  pub- 
lic amusements  of  the  da}r,  and  was  patronized  by  young 
and  old.  Men  had  lived  and  died  members  of  the  Cala- 
thumpian Band,  and  are  remembered  in  Puddleford  for 
this,  if  nothing  else. 

It  is  said  that  the  songs  and  the  amusements  of  a  peo- 
ple determine  their  character.  If  this  be  true,  the  reader 
can  judge  something  of  the  country  population  about 
Puddleford  from  the  little  sketch  I  have  given  of  them. 
The  amusements  of  the  villagers  themselves  were  quite 
miscellaneous.  The  "  aristocracy/'  as  Bird  &  Co.  termed 
them,  gathered  every  night  at  the  Eagle,  where  they 
played  cards,  checkers,  backgammon,  made  bets,  dis- 
cussed the  affairs  of  the  nation  and  the  private  affairs  of 
their  neighbors,  drank  a  little  whiskey,  and  went  home 
at  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  deeply  impressed  with  their 
own  importance.  Bulliphant's  bar-room  was  their  centre 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  H3 

of  giavity,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  deep  concern,  if  any 
member  of  the  club  was  not  found  in  his  accustomed 
place.  Longbow,  Turtle,  and  Bates  had  actually  un- 
seated several  pairs  of  pantaloons  on  the  landlord's 
chairs,  which  proved  clearly  enough  that  they  were  faith- 
ful members. 

Important  business  was  transacted  by  this  club.  It 
made  all  the  justices  of  the  peace,  constables,  school  in- 
spectors, &c.,  &c.,  and  was  a  controlling  clique,  in  ail 
political  matters,  within  the  township. 

The  reader  discerns  that  Puddleford,  in  most  respects, 
was  like  other  places.  It  had  its  divisions  in  society, 
its  importance,  its  pomp  and  show,  and  relatively  speak- 
ing, its  aristocracy.  It  played  through  the  same  farce  in 
a  small  way  that  larger  places  do  on  a  more  extended 
plan.  Longbow  felt  just  as  omnipotent,  walking  up  and 
down  the  streets  of  Puddleford,  as  the  tallest  grandee 
treading  a  city  pavement.  The  scale  of  greatness  was 
not  as  long  in  his  village,  but  he  stood  as  high  on  it  as 
any  other  man  in  the  world  on  his  —  and  so  long  as  he 
headed  his  own  scale,  it  mattered  but  little  to  him  where 
the  "  rest  of  mankind  "  were. 

It  must  have  been  a  very  remarkable  character  who 
once  said,  "  human  nature  is  always  the  same" —  that 
the  only  difference  in  human  pride  and  folly  is  one  of  de- 
gree. And  I  really  hope  there  are  none  of  my  readers 
who  feel  disposed  to  look  down  upon  Puddleford  with 
contempt,  because  I  have  presented  a  few  personages  who 
have  innocently  caricatured  what  others  daily  practise, 
who  have  been  polished  in  the  very  laboratory  of  fashion. 
Puddleford  ought  not,  for  that  reason,  to  be  condemned. 
8 


114  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  may,  on  the  contrary,  be  a  lesson 
to  such,  because  it  makes  a  burlesque  of  itself  in  chasing 
folly.  Puddleford  is  a  great  looking-glass,  which  reflects 
the  faces  of  almost  every  person  who  looks  into  it,  and 
proves,  what  that  remarkable  character  said,  "that  hu- 
man nature  is  always  the  same." 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  H5 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Puddlcford  and  Politics.  —  Higgins  against  Wiggins.  —  The  Candi- 
dates' Personale.  —  Their  Platforms.  —  Delicate  Questions.  — 
Stump  Speaking.  —  Wiggins  on  Higgins.  —  Impertinent  Interrup- 
tions. —  Higgins  on  Wiggins.  —  Ike  Turtle 'not  dead  yet.  —  Com- 
motion. —  Squire  Longbow  restores  Order.  —  Grand  Stroke  of 
Policy.  —  The  lioast  Ox  at  Gillett's  Corners. 

"PIJDDLEFORD  was  famous  for  its  political  excite- 
-L  merits,  and  so  indeed  is  a  new  country  generally. 
Its  people  watched  the  altar  of  liberty  with  an  "  eternal 
vigilance."  The  qualifications  of  all  persons,  from  a 
candidate  for  the  presidency  down  to  township  constable, 
were  thoroughly  canvassed  by  the  electors.  What  might 
be  a  qualification  for  office  in  Puddleford,  might  disqualify 
in  another  region,  but  we  cannot  expect  that  all  men 
will  think  alike.  We  must  not  forget  that  office  meant 
something  in  Puddleford  —  that  it  conferred  honor  on 
the  man,  whether  the  man  conferred  honor  on  it  or  not. 
A  highway  commissioner,  or  overseer  of  the  poor,  was  a 
character  looked  up  to,  and  a  supervisor  or  justice  were 
the  oracles  of  their  neighborhood. 

The  merits  and  demerits  of  candidates  were  freely  dis- 
cussed at  public  meetings,  held  most  usually  in  the  open 
air,  and  composed  of  all  parties.  Aspirants  for  public 
favor,  who  were  opposed  to  each  other,  met  and  made 
and  answered  arguments.  All  things  in  the  "  heavens 


116  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

above  and  the  earth  beneath ,"  were  raked  up  and  pre- 
sented at  these  gatherings.  The  creation  of  the  world  — 
Adam  and  Eve  —  Cain  —  Jerusalem  —  Greece  and  Rome 
—  the  revolution,  and  the  last  war,  were  dragged  into 
speeches,  and  made  material  for  electioneering. 

In  the  fall,  subsequently  to  rny  settlement,  Higgins  ran 
against  Wiggins  for  member  of  the  legislature.  It  was 
said  that  this  was  one  of  the  most  exciting  contests  that 
Puddleford  ever  experienced.  Every  man,  woman,  and 
child  were  enlisted.  The  "  Higgins  "  men  didn't  speak 
to  the  "  Wiggins  "  men,  nor  the  "  Wiggins  "  men  to  the 
"  Higgins  "  men,  for  more  than  two  months,  and  the  op- 
posing families  absolutely  refused  to  visit. 

Wiggins  was  a  little,  waspish  man,  who  lived  in  the 
country,  and  was  called  a  "  forehanded  "  farmer.  He 
had  been  a  justice  of  the  peace  in  Cattaraugus  county, 
State,  of  New  York,  and  thought  as  much  of  himself  as 
he  did  of  any  other  person  living.  He  had  a  small, 
withered  face,  which  looked  like  a  frost-bitten  apple,  red 
hair,  and  a  quick,  restless  eye.  He  was  a  violent  poli- 
tician, a  shrewd  manager,  had  a  keen  insight  of  human 
nature,  some  humor,  and  was  and  always  had  been  a 
red-hot  democrat.  He  rafted  lumber  for  several  years 
on  the  Susquehanna,  where  he  received  the  greater  part 
of  his  education.  He  could  write  his  name,  and  had 
been  known  to  attempt  a  letter,  but  no  one  was  ever  yet 
found  who  could  read  his  correspondence.  His  orthog- 
raphy was  decidedly  bad.  He  spelled  in  a  sort  of  short- 
hand way,  which  was  not  so  objectionable,  after  all,  as  his 
language  usually  conveyed  the  pronunciation  of  the  words 
intended.  "  II  "  was  used  for  "  ile  "  or  "  oil ;  "  "  hos  " 
stood  for  "  horse  ;  ;;  "  kanderdit  for  ofis,"  for  "can- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  H7 

didate  for  office/'  and  so  on.  His  extemporaneous  speak- 
ing was  quite  tolerable,  and  it  was  this  gift  which  had 
given  him  notoriety. 

Higgins  was  a  man  much  after  the  sort  of  Wiggins, 
in  many  respects,  though  not  altogether.  He  was  a 
violent  whig,  and  talked  incessantly  about  his  '*  glorious 
party."  He  was  a  large,  tali,  broad-breasted  fellow, 
ignorant,  cunning,  and  cut  something  of  a  swagger 
wherever  he  went.  He  drank  whiskey,  chewed  a  paper 
of  fine-cut  every  day,  read  the  newspapers,  cursed  the 
locofocos,  prognosticated  the  downfall  of  the  country, 
and  pledged  himself  to  die  game,  let  what  would  happen. 

These  candidates  for  office  had  a  "  platform, "  a  part 
of  which  was  intended  for  Puddleford,  arid  a  part  for 
their  common  country  —  some  planks  of  which  were 
thrown  in  merely  to  catch  votes,  and  some  for  future 
fame.  Wiggins  said  he  was  for  "  giving  immortal  man 
full  swing  inter  all  things,  and  letting  his  natur  fly  loose 
like  the  winds."  lie  was  "  for  driving  the  American 
eagle  inter  every  land,  whether  she'd  go  or  riot."  He 
was  "for  a  railroad  and  canal  straight  thro7  Puddleford, 
to  be  built  by  the  state,  under  the  penalty  of  a  revolu- 
tion." He  was  "  agin  rich  men  everywhere,  for  they 
trampled  down  the  poor."  He  was  "for  upsetting 
Longbow  and  his  clique,  and  declared  he  would  bring 
in  a  bill,  if  elected,  that  would  blow  the  whole  set  out 
of  sight."  He  was  for  "  easy  times,"  "  plenty  of  cash," 
"little  or  no  work,"  "  good  crops,"  and  everything  else 
the  people  wanted. 

Iliggins  was  for  "breaking  down,  and  scat'ring  loco- 
focos everywhere."  He  went  "  for  everything  that's 
right,  and  agin  everything  that's  wrong."  He  was 


118  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

for  "beating  Wiggins."  He  could  "show  that  he 
hadn't  patriotism  enough  to  keep  the  breath  warm  in 
a  four  year  old  child  !  there  warn't  a  spark  of  American 
glory  in  him.  He  wanted  to  sell  out  the  whole  country 
to  the  British,  and  would  if  elected  !  Besides,  he  kicked 
up  a  fuss  in  Bigelow's  church,  about  the  doctrines 
preached,  and  damaged  religion."  Higgins,  it  seemed 
to  me,  based  his  success  upon  the  supposed  unpopularity 
of  Wiggins,  and  not  upon  any  political  principles  of  his 
own,  while  Wiggins  relied  upon  the  great  fundamental 
truths  that  were  shadowed  forth  in  his  platform. 

There  were  other  questions  which  agitated  the  popu- 
lace of  Puddleford  and  its  county,  such  as  the  sale  of 
liquor,  the  removal  of  the  Indians,  &c.,  &c.,  which  both 
Iliggiris  and  Wiggins  touched  very  tenderly,  because 
it  became  necessary  to  advocate  both  sides,  sometimes 
for  and  sometimes  against,  according  to  the  views  of 
those  persons  who  happened  at  the  time  to  be  soliciting 
information. 

During  the  fall,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  these 
two  rival  aspirants  for  office  define  their  position  before 
the  people.  The  gathering  was  in  a  grove,  very  large 
for  a  new  country,  and  made  up  of  men,  women,  and 
children.  Flags  and  inscriptions  were  flying  here  and 
there,  some  for  Iliggins  and  some  for  Wiggins,  and 
every  person  was  as  brimful  of  patriotism  as  he  could 
hold. 

Wiggins  rose,  and  presented  himself  on  a  high  plat- 
form that  had  been  erected  for  the  occasion,  pulled  up 
his  collar,  buttoned  his  coat,  coughed  a  few  times,  and 
then  took  a  leisurely  survey  of  the  crowd.  '  "  Feller 
citizens  !  men  and  women  1  ;;  said  he,  "  there  is  going 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  H9 

to  be  an  election,  and  I'm  a-goin  to  run  for  office. 
Not  that  I  care  anything  about  the  office  itself,  for  I 
don't,  a  tinker's  ladle,  but  I  want  to  beat  Iliggins,  who 
never  ought  to  be  trusted  with  the  liberties  of  any 
people,  and  I'm  willing  to  sacrifice  something  to  do  it. 
Feller  citizens  !  I  want  to  have  you  recollect  where 
Iliggins  lives  —  at  '  Satan's  Half  Acre  !  '  —  where  they 
don't  have  any  Fourth  of  July  ;  no  Sunday  school,  only 
about  two  months  a  year  ;  and  the  same  place,  feller 
citizens,  where  they  mobbed  the  temperance  lecturer, 
and  swore  they'd  drink  streak-lightning  if  they  were 
a-min-to  !  (Great  applause,  and  cheers  for  Wiggins, 
mingled  with  oaths  and  hisses  from  Iliggins'  friends.) 
Feller  citizens,  Iliggins  is  a  leading  man  there,  and 
accountable  for  all  this  ;  and  if  he  is  elected,  we  shall 
indorse  all  these  doings." — A  man  from  the  "Half 
Acre,"  one  of  Iliggins'  friends,  rose,  and  said  he'd  take 
the  liberty  of  saying  that  was  an  "  in/arnal  lie."  Wig- 
gins replied,  by  inquiring  "if.  the  meeting  would  see  free 
discussion  gagged  down,  here,  in  the  presence  of  the 
immortal  Washington,  who,  he  hoped,  was  looking  down 
on-to  us  !  "  whereupon  the  unfortunate  man  was  pitched, 
headlong,  out  of  the  crowd.  "  Arter  having  looked  at 
where  Iliggins  lives,"  continued  Wiggins,  "  look  at 
liiggiris  himself!  what  is  he  ?  what  does  he  know  ?  what 
can  he  do  ?  Why,  feller  citizens,  he  was  born  down 
somewhere  in  a  place  so  small,  that  it  ain't  on  the  map, 
and  started  life  by  tending  a  lime-kiln  ;  but  he  broke 
down  in  this  business,  and  was  discharged.  He  next 
tried  to  go  to  school,  but  there  warri't  any  class  low 
down  enough  to  get  him  into.  lie  then  tried  hoss  doc- 
t'ring ;  and  you,  feller  citizens,  know  when  a  man  turns 


120  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

out  good-for-nothing,  he  goes  rite  into  the  larncd  pro- 
fessions. He  tried  hoss  doct'ring  !  and,  after  laying  out 
ten  or  a  dozen  of  those  noble  animals  inter  the  cold 
embrace  of  death  (applause),  he  ran  away  to  get  rid 
of  a  summons  that  was  clus  arter  him  !  Then  he  fiddled 
for  a  while  winters,  and  laid  off  summers  ;  then  he  druv 
stage,  then  he  got-tor-be  captain  of  a  raft,  his  first  office  ; 
but  he  stranded  her,  and  she's  never  been  got  off  yet. 
At  last,  he  went  to  '  Satan's  Half  Acre/  where  he 
thinks  he  ain't  known,  and  actually,  feller  citizens,  has 
the  impudence  to  come  up  for  office.  (Great  applause.) 
"Now,"  continued  Wiggins,  "having  disposed  of 
Higgins,  I  am  going  to  launch  out  on  the  great  political 
questions  of  the  day  —  questions  that  swell  up  in  me, 
and  fairly  make  me  tremble  all  over,  to  think  on.  We've 
a  mighty  sight  to  do,  to  take  care  of  them  liberties  that 
was  'queathed  to  us  by  Gen'ral  Washington,  jest  before 
he  died.  The  old  hero  know'd  he  was  a-going,  but  afore 
he  went,  he  give  us  our  liberty,  and  said  all  that  he  asked 
on  us  was  to  take  care  on  it,  and  not  let  anybody  steal 
or  coax  it  away  from  us,  but  always  hold  on  to  it  like  a 
dog  to  a  root.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  our  party,"  exclaimed 
Wiggins,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  that  great  American  eagle  that 
has  flew'd  so  long,  and  kivered  our  juvenil'  years  with  his 
wings  —  that  eagle,  feller  citizens,  that  sleeps  on  the 
ragin  tornado,  and  warms  himself  in  the  sun  —  that  eagle, 
I  say  —  that  eagle  !  eagle  !  would  now  be  as  dead  as  a 
smelt,  tying  on  his  back,  a-groaning  for  help.  (Great 
applause,  and  three  cheers.)  (Wiggins  said  he  hoped 
the  audience  would  hold  in  their  manifestations  of  ap- 
plause as  much  as  they  could,  as  it  scattered  his 
thoughts.)  The  fust  whig,"  continued  Wiggins,  "that 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  121 

we  have  any  notis'  on  in  his'try,  is  the  old  feller  with 
tail  and  horns,  who  goes  to  and  fro,  up  and  down  the 
airth  ;  and  he,  you  know,  stole  all-er  Job's  property, 
killed  off  his  children,  and  came  pretty  near  killing  the 
old  man  himself.  The  next  was  John  Adams,  who 
didn't  want  anybody  to  come  into  the  country,  nor  say 
nothing  after  they  had  got  here.  He,  feller  citizens, 
was  for  exploding  all  the  glories  of  natur,  and  drying  up 
the  etarnal  fountains  of  hope  and  consolation  —  for  turn- 
ing man  back  again  into  the  regions  of  confusion,  where 
all  is  night  and  misery  !  (Very  great  applause,  followed 
by  a  flight  of  hats  in  the  air.)  The  next  whig  was 
everybody  that  supported  old  John,  such  as  Higgins  and 
his  party. 

"  Now,  feller  citizens,  what's  the  reason  you  hain't 
got  any  more  money  ?  It's  because  the  laws  ain't  right. 
Man  was  born  to  have  enough  of  everything.  This  is 
a  big  world  we  live  in  —  it  ram'fys  itself  all  round  the 
^quator,  and  its  mountains  diversify  themselves  into  in- 
finity. You  own  your  part  on't  just  as  much  as  the 
greatest  nabob ;  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  stand  up 
to  the  rack,  vote  for  true  men,  and  you'll  get  it ;  and 
it's  your  duty  to  rise  in  your  wrath,  break  the  chains  of 
oppression,  and  declare  that  you'll  never  lay  down  the 
sword  until  the  last  enemy  is  routed.'7  (More  applause.) 
Here  a  solemn-faced  man  rose,  and  asked  Wiggins  to 
define  himself  on  the  "  licker  question. "  "  Thank  you, 
sir,"  replied  Wiggins  — "  was  just  comin'  to  that." 
"The  licker  question  —  the  licker  question/'  continued 
Wiggins,  speaking  with  gravity,  for  there  was  a  great 
division  of  opinion  among  his  hearers  on  that  subject  — 
the  licker  question,  feller  citizens,  is  a  great  question. 


122  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Some  people  drink,  some  don't  —  some  drink  a  little, 
some,  a  good  deal.  The  licker  question  is  a  question 
that  a  great  many  folks  talk  about.  /  talk  about  it 
myself,  and  "  (the  same  man  rose  again,  and  ask'd  Wig-- 
gins if  he  would  "vote  agin  licker?"  Wiggins  said 
"  it  throw'd  him  off  his  balance,  to  be  disturbed  in 
public  speaking  ")  —  "everybody  know'd  how  he  stood 
on  that  pint  —  he'd  never  chang'd  ;  he  stood  where  his 
forefathers  did  ;  he  went  the  whole  hog  on  the  licker  ques- 
tion "  —  ("  Which  side  ?  "  inquired  the  man.)  "  Which 
side  ?  which  side  ?  "  ejaculated  Wiggins  :  "  do  you  want- 
er  trammel  up  a  free  and  independent  citizen  of  this 
mighty  republic  !  How  do  I  know,  here,  what  I  shall 
be  called  upon  to  vote  for  or  agin!  Ask  me  to  say  I'll 
vote  agin  something  that  hain't  come  up  yet  !  When 
David  knocked  over  the  great  giant  Goliah,  do  you  'spose 
he  knew  just  where  he'd  throw  the  stone  to  hit.  him." 
"  Ycs-sir-ee,"  exclaimed  Higgins,  springing  on  his  feet, 
"  he  did  that  very  thing."  Wiggins  "  hoped  order  would 
be  preserved.  I  shall  leave  to  the  expansive  development 
of  the  times,"  continued  Wiggins,  his  arms  flying  like  a 
windmill,  "the  blazing  energies  of  the  day,  and  cling  to 
the  constitution  till  it  goes  out  inter  the  expiring  regions 
of  oblivion."  (Three  cheers  were  given.) 

Wiggins  sat  down,  evidently  quite  exhausted  ;  and  I 
noticed  that  he  had  made  a  decided  impression.  Higgins 
rose,  stripped  off  his  coat  and  vest,  rolled  up  his  shirt- 
sleeve, stuffed  a  quarter-paper  of  tobacco  into  his  cheek, 
arid  "  ascended  the  platform."  He  said  he  was  a  humble 
citizen,  and  warn't  corn'd  of  rich  or  larned  folks  —  he 
had  tended  lime-kiln  —  he  had  doctor'd  bosses  —  he  had 
druv  stage  ;  and  he  was  goin'  to  drive  and  doctor 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  123 

a  jackass.  (Much  cheering.)  He  had  always  worked 
for  his  living.  He'd  give  five  dollars  to  any  man  who'd 
tell  him  where  Wiggins  was  born,  or  show  that  he 
ever  did  anything.  He  lived  on  the  sweat,  and  the 
blood,  and  the  brains  of  the  people.  He'd  tended  gro- 
cery, peddled  calickers,  try'd  to  talk  law  once,  and  was 
now  on  a  farm,  just  for  appearance'  sake.  For  himself, 
he  was  a  humble  link  in  the  great  whig  chain.  (Ike 
Turtle  said  he  s'posed  he  was  that  link  called  the  swivel.) 
Iliggins,  with  an  affected  pleasantry,  asked  Turtle  ''how 
long  it  was  since  he  run'd  awa}7  from  the  State  of  New 
York,  for  debt  ?  "  Turtle  replied,  that  "  Wiggins  ought 
to  know,  for  he  was  along  with  him  "  —  whereupon  a 
tremendous  shout  was  raised  in  favor  of  Turtle.  Hig- 
gins  rallied  and  proceeded.  lie  said  "  he  warn't  goin' 
to  talk  about  the  devil,  and  John  Adams  - —  he  didn't 
know  nothing  about  either  on  'em  —  it  was  entirely  agin 
his  religion  to  speak  of  such  things  before  such  a  'spect- 
ablc  audience.  (Some  sensation.)  What  he  wanted  to 
do  was,  to  carry  the  great,  e£ar-nal,  glorious  principles 
of  his  party  rite  strait  inter  every  mortal  being,  and 
save  the  country,  which  now  lies  bleeding  at  its  last 
gasp."  (Ike  asked  Higgins  to  "throw  him  down  a 
bundle  of  them  principles,  and  if  they  suited  him,  he'd 
take  a  few.") 

Somebody  told  Turtle  to  sit  down,  whereupon  Turtle 
appealed  to  the  crowd,  and  inquired  if  they'd  see  a  citi- 
zen gagged  down.  ("  No  !  no  !  "  was  the  reply.) 

Higgins  went  on.  He  said  Wiggins  warn't  so  ncmr 
straight  on  the  licker  question  as  his  yaller  dog  at  hum, 
for  his  dog  never  got  drunk,  and  Wiggins  did,  some- 
times. ("That's  a  lie!"  exclaimed  Wiggins.)  Of 


124  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

course  he'll  deny  it,  feller  citizens  —  I  would,  if  I  was 
in  his  place  —  but  I,  feller  citizens,  without  fear  of  man, 
not  caring,  about  an  election,  step  forth,  and  say  to  you 
all,  in  the  full  blaze  of  day,  that  Fll  do  all  for  the  came 
that  lies  in  my  power,  having  in  view  the  interests  of 
everybody  in  this  republic/7  (Applause.) 

lliggins  said  that  "  he  was  sorry  to  see  such  a  man  as 
Wiggins  trying  to  quote  scripter  to  this  audience  —  a 
man,  feller  citizens,  is  Wiggins  —  who  don't  know  whether 
David  was  the  son  of  Goliah,  or  Goliah  the  son  of  David 
—  a  man  who  don't  know  whether  Paul  wrote  the  book 
of  Genesis,  or  Genesis  the  book  of  Paul  —  a  swearin' 
man,  feller  citizens  ;  and  yet  he  talks  about  Goliah 
throwing  stones  at  David.  (Wiggins  wished  to  correct 
lliggins  —  it  was  the  other  way  —  David  threw  the 
stone  at  Goliah.)  Howsomever,"  continued  Higgins, 
11  h£  talks  about  the  stones  bein9  thrown,  and  uses  the 
scripters  in  this  way  ;  and  arn't  it  a  vile  way,  feller 
citizens,  to  catch  your  votes  —  to  run  himself  into  the 
legislater  with,  where  he  can  knock  over  the  liberties 
of  the  country,  and  make  the  green  fields  a  howlin'  waste 
again  !  "  (This  was  followed  by  very  great  applause.) 

After  the  applause  ceased,  Ike  Turtle  rose  with  gravity, 
and  reaching  forth  a  bottle  towards  lliggins,  inquired  if 
"  h'e  wouldn't  have  a  little,  as  natur  couldn't  bear  up  long 
under  such  rackin'  thoughts." 

lliggins  said  he  didn't  believe  this  free  and  highly 
moral  and  religus  audience  would  long  stand  a  party 
who'd  throw  a  jug  of  licker  inter  their  faces. 

Turtle  replied  that  it  was  a  mere  experiment.  He  bro't 
it  on  purpos  to  see  if  there  was  any  place  where  Wiggins 
wouldn't  drink.  (This  raised  a  shout.) 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  125 

Wiggins  retorted  by  saying  that  "  he  never  had  made 
a  walking  grocery  of  himself/7  (Much  laughter.) 

Turtle  "  didn't  know  about  that  —  if  he  did  he  carried 
it  inside."  The  whole  meeting  finally  got  into  a  commo- 
tion, each  party  taking  sides.  Squire  Longbow  set  up  a 

hue  and  cry,  "  In  the  name  of  the  people  of ,"  and 

order  was  restored.  I  heard  him  say,  after  the  crowd 
had  become  quiet,  "  that  the  constitution  guaranteed  talk- 
ing, and  altho'  he  was  on  t'other  side  in  politics,  he  must 
say,  as  a  magistrate,  that  it  guaranteed  Iliggins  the  floor, 
as  the  great  Story  decided  in  his  chapter  on  rows  and 
mobs," 

Iliggins  bowed  to  Squire  Longbow,  and  proceeded. 
""I'm  not  goin'  to  say  much  more,  and,  finally,  feller 
citizens,"  he  continued,  "  I  won't  say  any  more.  The 
audience  is  so  intelligent,  understand  so  well  all  the  prin- 
ciples of  gov'ment,  from  Noah's  family  that  sailed  inter 
the  ark,  down  to  the  remotest  possibility  of  filter  gen'- 
rations  —  have  so  weigh'd  everything  'longing  to  ;ern, 
before  the  morning  stars  sang,  and  dirgested  it  by  piece- 
meal—  that  it  would  be  an  everlasting  insult  for  me  to 
attempt  to  talk  furder  —  and  in  conclusion  I  will  say  : 
Three  cheers  for  the  dying  heroes  who  got  our  freedom, 
arid  who  now  lie  a-sleeping  on  the  shores  of  glory  !  " 
(Tremendous  applause,  accompanied  by  cheers  and  swing- 
ing of  hats.) 

I  have  given,  I  believe,  the  substance  of  the  first  two 
speeches,  but  these  were  only  introductory  to  those  that 
followed.  It  was  expected,  when  the  meeting  opened, 
that  the  speaking  would  occupy  most  of  the  day,  and 
the  specimens  which  I  have  reported  were  merely  straws 
thrown  out  to  determine  which  way  the  wind  blew.  The 


126  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

real  questions  at  issue  were  dexterously  dodged  by 
sallies  of  wit  and  flights  of  unmeaning  bombast. 

Wiggins  mounted  the  stand  again,  and  spoke  for  an 
hour.  He  told  a  large  number  of  humorous  stories,  and 
turned  their  point  against  Higgins  —  then  he  sailed  away 
into  the  clouds  astride  a  burst  of  nonsense  —  then  he 
came  down  again.  At  one  time,  while  Wiggins  was 
"  cavorting  in  the  upper  regions/7  as  Turtle  called  it, 
Sile  Bates,  who  was  a  whig,  started  to  his  feet,  arid 
placing  his  closed  hand  to  one  eye,  and  cocking  the  other, 
he  stared  away  after  him,  as  earnestly  as  if  he  were  just 
passing  out  of  sight.  Higgins  followed,  and  the  speak- 
ing was  kept  up,  alternately,  until  about  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  when  the  meeting  closed,  without  either 
Iliggiris  or  Wiggins  defining  their  position,  or  saying  one 
word  indicative  of  their  future  political  course. 

Just  as  the  meeting  closed,  Ike  Turtle,  who  was  the 
real  political  manager  on  the  part  of  the  democratic 
party,  rushed  up  to  the  speakers'  stand,  and  swinging 
his  hat  round,  cried  out  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  "  Feller 
citizens  !  The  democratic  party,  knowin'  that  the  speak- 
ing would  last  a  good  while,  arid  that  natur  might  be- 
come exhausted  in  listenin'  and  'tendin'  to  the  duties  of 
our  common  country,  have  prepared  a  roasted  ox,  down 
at  '  Gillett's  Corners/  with  all  the  fixing,  where  we  want 
you  all  to  go,  whigs  and  democrats,  both  Higgins  and 
Wiggins,  and  particularly  the  ladies,  who  have  turned 
out  so  nobly  —  and  the  young  folks  can  have  a  dance  in 
the  everiiri'  if  they  wish." 

Here  was  a  stroke  of  management  worth  all  the 
speeches  of  the  day.  No  one  suspected  that  there  was 
a  dinner  in  preparation,  and  when  Ike  made  the  an- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  12T 

nouncement,  there  was  a  shout  that  came  from  the  heart, 
and  made  the  woods  ring.  And  the  meeting  adjourned 
to  "Gillett's  Corners." 

Several  other  public  political  gatherings  were  held,  and 
a  very  large  amount  of  breath,  time,  and  eloquence  were 
expended  ;  but  the  result  was  the  election  of  Wiggins 
by  a  tremendous  majority,  and  I  do  not  now  recollect 
of  hearing  of  an  allusion,  by  him,  in  the  legislature,  to 
any  of  those  "  leading  measures"  that  occupied  his 
thoughts  on  the  "  stump." 

I  believe,  after  all,  that  the  country  was  very  well  rep- 
resented. Wiggins  used  about  as  much  gas  and  de- 
ception in  securing  his  seat  as  a  New  York  politician, 
but  not  any  more ;  but  after  he  had  obtained  it,  he  felt 
and  acted  like  a  representative  of  the  people,  who  had  a 
reputation  of  his  own  to  sustain.  When  I  say  "  well 
represented,"  I  mean  that  he  did  no  harm  —  nor  any 
good  either  —  but  always  voted  right  on  party  questions, 
because  his  name  began  with  W,  and  was  nearly  the 
last  called  —  if  it  had  begun  with  A,  he  would  have 
ruined  himself,  and  perhaps  his  country  —  so  true  it  is 
that  a  man's  fame  or  infamy  may  hang  by  a  single  thread. 


128  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Winter  upon  us. —  The  Roosters  in  the  early  Morning.  —  The  Blue- 
Jays  and  the  Squirrels.  —  The  Improvident  Turkey.  —  The  Domes- 
tic Hearth,  and  who  occupied  it.  —  The  Old  Dog.  —  The  Blessed 
Old  Mail-Horse.  —  The  Newspapers.  — Our  Come-to  Tea.  — Mrs. 
Brown,  her  Arrival  and  Experiences.  —  Entree  of  Bird,  Beagles 
&  Co.  —  Conflicting  Elements,  and  how  Ike  Turtle  assimilated  all. 
—  Gratifying  Consequences. 

[  Y  little  family,  that  I  have  spoken  of,  were  quietly 
nestled  away  in  the  log  hut,  and  winter  was  now  upon 
us.  The  days  came  arid  went,  and  were  marked  by  light 
and  darkness,  and  our  own  domestic  joys.  There  were 
no  startling  events  to  disturb  any  person's  serenity  —  no 
rise  or  fall  of  stocks  —  no  fires  —  no  crashes  in  business 
—  no  downfall  of  pride  —  no  bustle  in  the  streets  about 
the  latest  news  —  no  nothing.  The  world  moved  on  as 
monotonous  as  the  tick-tick  of  a  clock. 

The  gray  of  each  morning  was  first  heralded  by  a 
famous  rooster,  which  I  had  imported  from  the  east.  He 
blew  his  clarion  voice  at  about  four,  and  I  used  to  lie  arid 
hear  its  echoes  wander  away  off  through  the  streets  of 
Puddleford,  until  they  finally  expired  in  the  wilderness, 
lie  was  usually  answered  by  some  half-awakened  cock, 
whose  drowsy,  smothered  crow  was  quite  ludicrous.  Then 
he  would  give  another  blast  —  and  get,  usually,  a  snap- 
pish answer  from  some  quarter,  saying  as  well  as  it  could 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  129 

be  said  —  "  Well,  I  know  it  —  what  of  it  ?  "  Pretty 
soon,  a  braggadocio  fellow  would  belch  forth  in  a  coarse, 
sullen  strain  —  "  I've  been-up-these-fo#o-hours."  This  was 
followed,  often,  by  the  cracked  voice  of  some  nervous  old 
fellow,  away  in  another  direction,  declaring,  "  I  rather 
guess  you  h — a — i — n — t."  And  so  one  after  another, 
strain  was  added  to  strain,  until  the  whole  orchestra  were 
blowing  their  horns  in  the  face  of  opening  day. 

At  sunrise,  the  blue-jays  and  other  birds  gathered  about 
the  door  and  garden,  to  pick  the  dry  seeds  that  the  weeds 
were  shedding  on  the  earth.  What  are  snow  birds  ? 
Where  do  they  live  ?  See  them  chirping  in  yonder  ray 
of  sunlight  — darting  hither  and  thither,  like  motes  in  a 
beam  of  light.  See  them  go  whirling  through  the  tem- 
pest, like  angel  spirits,  beautiful  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
storm.  What  are  they  ?  Do  they  sleep  on  the  wings  of 
the  wind,  or  hide  themselves  in  a  scroll  of  snow  ?  How- 
is  it  that  these  little  singing  harps  live  on  amid  such 
dreary  scenes  ?  The  blue-jays,  however,  were  very  petu- 
lant. Their  gorgeous  summer  plumage  was  exceedingly 
mussed,  and  they  went  about  from  bush  to  bush,  and  tree 
to  tree,  screaming  and  fretting  at  each  other  and  them- 
selves. They  acted  like  so  many  Siberian  prisoners,  who 
were  forced  to  brave  the  blasts  as  the  penalty  of  some 
crime  they  had  committed. 

Sometimes,  a  keen,  frosty  night  would  be  succeeded  by 
a  still,  sunny  day,  when  the  eaves  pattered  their  sleepy 
music,  and  the  cows  strayed  away  into  the  forest,  as 
though  they  srnelt  approaching  spring  —  when  the  cats 
flew  out  of  the  house,  and  chased  each  other  up  into  the 
trees,  and  the  dog  went  away  by  himself,  wandering  along* 
the  river-banks  for  reasons  known  only  to  himself. 
9 


130  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Those  were  visiting  days,  holidays,  jubilee  days,  for 
those  animals  that  were  housed  in  trees,  and  burrowed  in 
the  earth.  Go  forth  into  the  woods.  You  may,  on  such 
a  day,  see  the  squirrel  push  out  his  head  from  the  door  of 
his  castle,  where  he  has  been  confined  for  a  month,  and 
cautiously  look  over  the  landscape  —  then  dart  in  again. 
Soon  he  pushes  himself  out  farther,  and  farther,  and  tim- 
idly glides  down  to  the  foot  of  the  tree.  Then  he  tries 
the  snow,  and  then  again,  and  finally  goes  cantering  to 
the  nearest  sturnp,  and  chirruping,  up  he  goes  with  a  flirt, 
throws  his  tail  over  his  back,  sits  down,  and  breaks  forth 
into  a  burst  of  song. 

Do  you  believe  that  squirrel  remembers  his  last  summer 
rambles  in  those  woods  —  yon  rivulet  where  he  drank, 
now  sleeping  beneath  its  silver  frost-work,  and  chanting 
its  low,  muffled  dirge  —  yon  icy  knoll,  that  stood,  last 
June,  a  pyramid  of  flowers  —  yon  hickory  where  he  har- 
vested his  nuts  ?  Is  his  song  for  the  present  or  the  past  ? 

Look  a  little  farther  —  the  solemn  tread  of  the  turkey 
—  who  is  busy  disinterring  some  of  the  buried  mast  of 
autumn.  Such  a  day  is  a  bright  page  in  the  winter  life 
of  the  turkey.  She  comes  forth  from  beneath  the  roots 
of  upturned  trees,  from  thickets  or  -hollow  logs,  where 
she  has  been  so  long  cowering  and  starving,  to  hail  the 
blessed  warmth.  She  dreamed  away  the  summer,  stalk- 
ing about  from  wood  to  stream,  and  stream  to  wood  — 
she  passed  the  provident  squirrel  often,  in  October,  and 
saw  him  roll  in  his  winter  stores,  but  she  didn't  know 
why  ;  and  now  she  is  shovelling  the  snow,  scattering  it 
right  and  left  with  her  feet,  with  a  melancholy  twit  1  twit  ! 
to  get  a  kernel  of  bread. 

Farther  on  is  a  little  gorge  sloping  up  from  the  brook* 


HUMORS    OF   THE   WEST.  131 

and  on  such  days  the  snows  melt  off,  and  the  banks  grow 
warm,  and  the  green  grass  shines  as  brightly  as  it  did  in 
May.  It  is  soft  and  spring-like  there.  The  sunbeams 
seem  to  be  all  tangled  together  in  that  spot.  There  are 
clusters  of  winter  birds  sporting  in  this  temple,  and  occa- 
sionally one  breaks  forth  with  a  note  or  two  of  her  last 
June's  song,  as  though  she  were  just  twanging  her  harp 
to  try  its  strings.  They  think  those  tangled  sunbeams 
are  the  footfall  of  April,  and  so  they  chirrup,  and  flutter, 
and  bow  to  them,  and  seem  to  ask  where  gentle  May  is, 
and  when  she  is  coming  with  her  music  and  flowers. 

Sometimes  the  fog  from  the  river  would  freeze  upon  the 
trees  during  a  night,  and  the  sun  would  rise  upon  a  forest 
all  burst  out  into  a  white  bloom.  As  the  sun  rose  higher, 
the  little  particles  glittered  and  flashed,  and  then  it  was  a 
forest  of  silver  —  every  shrub,  every  bush,  every  tree, 
was  silver.  The  woods  were  a  frozen  poem  —  written 
in  a  night  by  invisible  fingers,  to  be  read  for  an  hour  or 
two,  and  then  scattered  away  in  shining  scales,  forever. 
These  natural  changes  and  beauties  were  all  that  there 
were  to  attract  attention,  and  arrest  our  out-door  thoughts. 
How  different  is  all  this  from  the  life  of  a  resident  of  some 
large  city  —  where  the  life  of  a  man  is  read  in  the  street 

—  and  where  each  day  shifts  its  pictures  with  its  revolu- 
tion, like  the  changing  colors  of  a  kaleidoscope  ! 

Iri-doors,  however,  was  the  domestic  hearth.  There 
were  joys  there  that  knew  no  winter.  Wife  and  children 

—  how  many  ?    I  said  three  —  but  were  there  not  more  ? 
There   was  the   babe,  the  creeping  infant,  the  tottering 
child,  in  each.     The  portraits   of  half  a   dozen  children 
were  daguerreotyped  on  my  soul  as  I  looked  at  one.    But 
a  part  were  dead  !  —  the  babe  had  died  in  the  infant,  and 


132  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

the  infant  in  the  child  —  not  died,  either,  but  one  grace 
had  faded  into  another,  one  beauty  had  risen  upon  the 
ruins  of  another,  until  the  child  was  born  where  the  infant 
perished,  we  know  not  when  nor  how.  Instead  of  two, 
I  always  felt  that  I  had  a  family  of  little  ones  about  me. 

And  then,  that  old  dog  that  had  been  with  us  for  years, 
and  shared  our  fortunes  and  misfortunes,  always  the  same, 
under  all  circumstances  —  he  was  one  of  the  family.  He 
used  to  pioneer  the  children  a  half  a  mile  to  school,  and 
wag  his  tail,  and  bid  them  "  good  morning/7  as  he  left 
them  at  the  door.  He  was  also  there  in  waiting,  at  night, 
to  escort  them  home  again.  He  used  to  walk  around, 
over  the  farm,  and  examine  this  thing  and  that,  as  though 
he  was  half  proprietor  of  the  premises.  He  used  to  sleep 
during  the  long  winter  evenings  by  the  fire,  his  nose  be- 
tween his  fore  paws,  his  hind  legs  stretched  out  full  length, 
and  dream  of  scouring  the  woods  —  first  a  tremor !  then 
a  twitch  !  then  a  bark,  and  a  leap  !  and  looking  up,  and 
finding  all  a  sham,  away  he  would  walk  under  the  table, 
overwhelmed  with  mortification. 

This  dog  never  made  any  acquaintance  among  the  Pud- 
dlefordians,  nor  their  dogs.  He  always  stood  aloof  on 
his  dignity,  and  if  either  approached  too  near,  warned 
them  away  with  a  low  growl.  He  was  a  noble  New- 
foundland, and  prided  himself  upon  his  ancestry. 

But  there  are  little  threads  of  beauty  that  penetrate 
every  household,  wherever  it  maybe,  and  warm  the  heart. 
Those  thoughts,  and  kind  words,  and  remembrances,  that 
fty  back  and  forth,  hundreds  of  miles,  and  keep  the  poor- 
est hovel  all  a-glow.  They  are  so  many  rays  that  converge 
there,  and  make  a  star.  That  sleepy  old  horse  that 
brought  in  the  mail  once  a  week  was  a  blessed  old  horse, 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  133 

and  bore  upon  his  back  treasures  that  far  outweighed 
gold.  That  mail-bag,  like  all  mail-bags,  was  full  of  pas- 
sions —  love,  hatred,  and  revenge  —  all  kinds  of  courtesy, 
civility,  politeness,  sycophancy  —  some  coarseness  and 
vulgarity,  too  ;  and  when  it  burst,  like  a  bomb,  in  the 
post-office,  it  covered  some  persons  with  a  rainbow  light, 
gave  others  a  cold  drench,  overpowered  still  others,  and 
turned  many  into  so  many  raging  madmen.  The  impris- 
oned conflicting  elements  that  jogged  along  up  hill  and 
down  dale,  so  cosily  on  that  old  horse's  back,  made 
strange  work  when  they  were  let  loose. 

Mail  days  were  bright  days  in  our  calendar.  They 
came  only  once  a  week  —  but  that  day  always  brought 
something.  We  then  sat  down,  wife,  children,  and  all, 
and  posted  up  the  books  of  the  past.  The  letters  brushed 
off  the  dust  from  the  pictures  of  distant  friends  that  were 
hanging  in  our  souls  —  and  those  pictures  talked.  Some 
were  sick  ;  some  were  married ;  some  had  gone  to  one 
place,  some  to  another.  They  were  sailing  on  the  great 
current  of  life  as  well  as  we.  We  were  all  together,  yet 
apart ;  and  these  letters  were  only  a  shaking  of  hands 
across  the  flood  that  divided  us  —  the  shuttle  that  wove 
our  passage  into  one. 

And  then  the  newspapers  were  something  more  to  us 
than*  ever  before.  The  jar  and  roar  of  the  world,  like 
music,  was  softened  and  mellowed  by  distance.  Adver- 
tisements grew  valuable  ;  and  our  little  daughter  Kate 
absolutely  read  a  patent-medicine  notice  from  end  to  end 
without  smiling. 

During  the  winter,  my  wife  made  a  little  "  come-to- 
tea  "  gathering,  for  the  purpose,  as  *he  said,  of  getting 
"  better  acquainted  with  her  neighbors. "  We  were  living, 


134  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

as  I  have  stated  before,  a  little  out  of  the  village  of  Pud- 
dleford,  and  our  opportunities  for  seeing  its  society  were 
not  very  good.  She  invited  Squire  Longbow  and  wife 
(of  course) ;  Bates  and  wife  ;  Turtle  and  wife  ;  Mrs. 
Sonora  Brown,  Tom  Beagle  and  his  clique  —  in  fact,  it 
was  got  up  "  without  distinction  of  party/'  as  our  house 
was  neutral  ground,  never  having  thus  far  been  the  scene 
of  a  social  fight.  I  set  apart  the  day  to  attend  to  our 
guests. 

The  first  lady  who  made  her  appearance  was  Mrs. 
Sonora  Brown,  who  had  walked  out  from  Puddleford  alone, 
and  who  hove  in  sight,  pursuant  to  her  invitation  to  come 
to  tea,  at  about  two  P.  M. 

The  snow  was  falling  fast,  and  the  wind  quite  rough, 
but  Mrs.  Sonora  didn't  mind- that.  She  was  covered  with 
one  of  those  plaid  cloaks  that  were  made  twenty  years 
ago,  had  on  a  pair  of  heavy  brogan  boots  (sensible 
woman),  a  tight  hood,  and  over  that  a  red  and  white 
cotton  handkerchief  tied  under  her  chin.  The  old  lady 
sailed  along  through  the  gale  as  calmly  and  stately  as  a 
seventy-four.  When  she  reached  the  door,  she  rapped 
and  stamped,  and  gave  a  loud  hawk,  all  of  which  she 
undoubtedly  thought  ought  to  announce  her  presence. 

My  wife  opened  the  door.  "  Well,"  exclaimed  Sonora, 
"  you  see  I've  come/'  giving  her  cloak  a  hearty  shake, 
and  scattering  the  snow  about  her. 

"  Glad  — very  glad  to  see  you/'  replied  my  wife. 

"  I  know'd  you  would  be  —  that's  just  what  I  told 
'em/'  continued  Sonora;  "you  ain't  so  dreadfully  stuck 
up  out  here  as  some  folks  tries  to  make  believe,  arter  all." 

"  We  are  like  most  other  people,  I  suppose,"  suid  my 
wife. 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  135 

Sonora  took  off  her  hood,  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  me. 
"  So,  this  your  man?  I'd  hearn  tell  on  him,  but  never 
see'd  him  afore,  near  by  —  and  there  are  the  children  ! 
and  that  is  your  big  looking-glass  they  tell'd  about ! 
The  dear  massy  on  us/'  she  exclaimed,  "  how  nice  !  77 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Brown/7  said  I,  "  you  must  recollect  me  : 
I  was  a  juryman  on  the  trial  between  Filkins  and  Beadle/7 

"  Come  to  take  a  good  look  at  you,  and  so  you  was  ; 
but  I  was  so  frustered  that  day  that  I  didn't  know  which 
eend  I  stood  on.  How  pesky  sassy  them  'turneys-at-la' 
are  ! "  continued  Mrs.  Brown,  as  she  seated  herself  in  the 
big  rocking-chair. 

"  Mrs.  Brown,  have  you  lived  long  in  this  country  ?  7'  I 
asked. 

"  Why,  bless  your  soul,  yes  .'  Didn't  you  know  that  ? 
We  come  in  from  the  7Hio  twenty  years  ago,  and  lived 
her  'fore  there  was  anybody,  nor  nothing  but  bears  and 
catamounts.'7 

"  How,  in  the  world,  did  you  manage  to  get  through 
the  country  twenty  years  ago  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  pretty  orful  time/7  said  the  old  lady  ; 
"  it  almost  brings  the  tears  into  my  eyes  now  to  think 
on't.  There  was  my  husband  and  four  children  —  Lein 
and  Jim,  and  Molly  and'  Bessy.  Lern  was  about  twenty, 
and  Jim  about  fifteen,  and  Molly  and  Bessy  ten  and 
twelve  ;  and  we  were  all  piled  inter  a  big  cover' d  wagon, 
drawn  by  two  yoke  of  cattle,  with  what  little  furniter  we 
had ;  and  in  this  kinder  way  we  started  for  —  I  didn't 
know  where." 

"  Where  did  you  eat  and  sleep  ?  '7  inquired  I. 

"  We  bunk'd  in  the  wagon  nights,  and  camp'd  out  to 
eat ;  and  so  we  travelled  for  two  months/7 


136  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  But  you  got  through  all  safe  ?  "  I  said. 

"  No,  we  didn't,"  said  she,  heaving  a  sigh  ;  "  little 
Bessy  died  "  (she  wiped  away  a  tear)  ;  "  she  got  the 
measles  somewhere  on  the  road  ;  and  everybody  was 
afraid  of  catchin'  on  ;em ;  and  nobody  would  come  near 
us,  and  so  we  had  to  stop  and  take  care  of  her  in  the 
wagon  the  best  way  we  could.  We  done  all  we  could 
think  of,  but  she  kept  growin'  worse  and  worse,  'till  one 
mornin'  she  died." 

"  She  died  !  "  I  repeated,  feeling  sad. 

"  And  we  had  to  bury  her  in  a  strange  place  —  a  high 
knoll  in  the  woods  by  the  road-side  —  and  go  away  and 

leave  her  there  alone.  0,  Mr. ,"  she  exclaimed, 

"  I've  dream'd  a  thousand  times  of  that  spot  in  the 
woods :  what  wouldn't  I  give  if  I  could  go  and 
find  it !  " 

"  What  did  you  do  when  you  first  arrived  here  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"Why,  it  was  all  trees  all  over,  everywhere,  then. 
There  warn't  any  houzens,  nor  any  roads  to  travel  on, 
nor  no  white  folks  but  Venison  Styles,  and  some  other 
hunters  who  are  gone  away  now ;  nor  anything  to  live 
on ;  and  nothin'  to  be  heard  nights  but  the  varmints 
screaminV  said  Mrs.  Brown,  laying  down  her  knitting- 
work,  and  shoving  up  her  spectacles  with  a  convulsive 
twitch,  for  she  was  getting  eloquent.  "There  warn't  a 
pound  of  meat  for  fifty  miles  round  —  no  pork  for  love 
nor  money  —  and  so  we  cut  down  a  place,  and  built  a 
log  shanty,  and  liv'd  on  deer  meat,  for  deers  were  as 
thick  as  hops  all  over." 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  said  I. 

"  The    next  spring,"    she  continued,   "  we  cleared  a 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  13? 

couple  of  acres,  and  put  it  into  taters,  turnips,  beets,  and 
all  kind-er  garden  sass  ;  and  then  we  girdled  the  trees  on 
ten  or  twelve  acres  more,  and  in  the  fall  we  put  this  inter 
wheat,  arid  in  a  year  or  so  we  began  to  live.77 

"  And  that  large  farm  you  live  on,  Mrs.  Brown,  is  the 
spot  you  first  settled  ?  Where  are  your  children  now  ?  77 

11  They  are  round  yet/7  said  Sonora.  "  Jim  teaches 
school,  and  spec7lates,  and  fiddles  some,  and  can  doctor 
if  he  likes.  Jim  is  the  only  genus  in  our  family  :  he7s  as 
smart  as  litenin' ;  Lem  is  more  staid  and  sober-like. 
He  allers  took  to  hum  chores,  fod7ring  cattle,  and  such 
like-er  things.  He  married  Squire  Nolet7s  darter ;  and 
they  are  pretty  big  folks  —  got  carpets  in  their  bed-rooms, 
and  all  over  the  house  —  and  he  is  now  settled  on  a  farm 
out  on  Horse-Neck  Plains ;  and  Jim  is  now  doin7  fust- 
rate.77 

"  What  became  of  Molly?  " 

"  Molly  made  a  bad  go  on7t.  She  married  a  traveling 
singing-master — and  I  do  suppose,77  she  exclaimed,  "  he 
is  one  of  the  most  good-foT-nothin'  dogs  in  the  whole  set- 
tlement. I  don't  see  how  in  airlh  Molly  ever  took  a 
notion  to  him  :  ho  hain't  got  no  larnin7  — he  won't  work 
—  and  /don't  like  his  singin' '.  I  don7t  see  what  such 
critters  are  made  for.77  (The  old  lady  heaved  a  long 
sigh.) 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Bird,  Mrs. 
Beagle,  and  Mrs.  Snipes  came  in.  These  three  ladies 
were  inseparable.  They  visited  together,  and  warred,  as 
we  have  seen,  upon  the  <l  up-street  aristocracy  77  together. 
Mrs.  Bird,  who  was,  as  I  have  stated,  a  great  sozzle  about 
home,  was  now  decked  out  with  as  many  ribbons  and 
streamers  as  a  Maypole.  She  had  mounted  on  her  back 


138  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

a  most  tremendous  bustle,  and  she  bowed,  and  bobbed, 
and  twitched  about,  as  she  saluted  my  wife,  with  all  the 
airs  and  friskiness  of  a  young  girl.  Mrs.  Beagle  was 
quite  reserved. 

"Why,  bless  you,  Mrs.  — ,  how  cold  'tis  !  "  said 

Mrs.  Bird.  "  My  dear  husband  couldn't  hardly  think  of 
lettin'  me  go  out.  Bird  is  so  particular,  and  allers  so 
scared  for  fear'd  sunthin'  will  happen  to  me.  '  Wife/ 
said  Bird  to  me  one  day  —  'wife/  sez  he,  'you  musn't 
go  out  with  them  are  thin  shoes  on. —  't'il  be  the  death 
on  you/  sez  he.  '  0,  shaw !  '  sez  I.  '  Bird,  you're 
allers  bor'ring  trouble.'  'No,  I  ain't,  nother/  sez  he. 
'  Byme-by,  you'll  get  a  mortal  sickness  in  your  lungs, 
and  it'll  run  you  inter  the  inflammation,  and  then  you're 
gone/  But  I  allers  laughs  at  Bird  when  he  talks  so. 
Why,  of  all  things,"  continued  Mrs.  Bird,  looking  round, 
if  here  ain't  Mrs.  Brown.  "  Are  you  well,  Aunt  Sonora, 
to-day  ?  " 

"  Pretty  sorter,"  answered  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  Hain't  had  the  rheumatiz,  nor  shakin'  ager,  nor  any 
of  that  buzzing  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  None  to  speak  on." 

"  How  is  your  old  man,  Mrs.  Brown  ?  " 

"  Well,  he's  gruntin'  some  —  but  so's  to  be  about." 

"  Did  he  catch  that  feller  who  ow'd  him  and  ruri'd 
away  ?  " 

"  Not's  I  ever  heerd  on,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  Why,  what  a  nice  caliker  you're  got  on,  Mrs.  Brown  ; 
was  it  one-and-three  or  one-and-six  ?  " 

"  I  b'lieve  it  was  somewher's  along  there,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown. 

"  It's  jest  like  Charity  Beadle's,  only  Charity  had  hers 
made  up  with  the  figur'  runnin'  down." 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  139 

About  sundown,  and  in  the  midst  of  Mrs.  Bird's  con- 
versation —  for  her  tongue  kept  in  full  play  —  Squire 
Longbow  and  wife  announced  themselves  by  a  rap  Their 
arrival  spiked  Mrs.  Bird's  battery.  After  making  a  cold, 
scornful,  and  exceedingly  low  and  ironical  bow  to  them, 
she  retired  one  side  with  Mrs.  Beadle  and  Mrs.  Snipes. 

Squire  Longbow  had  on  his  best  rig  —  a  suit  of  gray- 
ish homespun.  His  shirt-collar  was  unusually  tall,  and 
he  had  put  a  double  bow-knot  in  his  neck-cloth  of  white 
cotton.  The  shade  over  his  lost  eye  was  very  clean  and 
bright.  He  really  looked  like  a  Justice. 

Longbow  said  he  was  glad  to  get  out  —  that  the  busi- 
ness of  justice  was  wearin'  him  to  death. 

"  Much  on  your  mind,  Squire,  now  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  All  the  time  —  all  the  time  sunthin'.  There's  a  piri't 
of  law  to  be  settled  in  that  case  'tween  Whippum  against 
Snappett.  Snappett's  nigger  man  druv  Snappett's  cat- 
tle over  Whippum's  dog,  and  broke  Whippum's  leg  —  I 
mean  Whippum's  dog's  leg ;  and  Whippum's  dog's  goin' 
to  die  —  a  very  valuable  dog  —  cost  Whippum  six  shil- 
lings last  spring  —  good  for  cattle,  hogs,  anything  — 
children  thought  a  good  deal  on  him  ;  and  so  Whippum 
swore  Snappett  should  pay  for  the  dog,  if  he  spent  his 
farm  to  get  it." 

"  I  declare,"  exclaimed  I. 

"  Yes,  he  said  it  in  my  offis  last  week  ;  but  whether  to 
sue  Snappett  or  the  nigger  is  the  p'int.  If  we  sue  the 
nigger,  he  arn't  good  ;  if  we  sue  Snappett,  twarn't  he 
that  druv  the  oxen." 

"Join  the  nigger  and  the  white  man  together  in  one 
suit,"  said  I. 

"T-h-u-n-der  I  "  exclaimed  the  Squire,  looking  wildly  at 


140  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

me —  "  can't  jine  niggers  and  white  men  together,  by  our 
constitution  — Story's  dead  agin  it.  They'd  come  in  on 
t'other  side,  and  squash  everything  inter  pieces. " 

"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  "  said  I. 

"Yes-sir-ee/  "  said  the  Squire;  "they  would  that  — 
and  have  me  'peai'd  up  to  the  higher  courts  in  a  jiffy. 

"And  then/'  continued  the  Squire,  "  Tibbits  and 
Jenkins  have  got  inter  trouble.  Jenkins  got  mad  at 
Tibbits  'bout  somethin'  a  while  ago,  and  so  he  went  down 
to  Tibbits'  house,  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  full-er  wrath 
—  and  spyin'  a  favorit'  cow  of  Tibbits  in  the  barn-yard, 
jest  drew  up,  and  popped  her  over  —  Tibbits  run'd  out, 
grabbl'd  the  gun  out  of  Jenkins'  hand,  and  smashed  it 
up  fine  on  a  tree  —  then  they  had  a  fight,  and  Jenkins 
bung'd  up  Tibbits,  and  Tibbits  bung'd  up  Jenkins,  so 
neither  on  'em  could  see  much  —  now  Tibbits  wants  to 
bring  suit  for  the  value  of  his  cow." 

"  Do  tell  now  if  he  does,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora, 
who  had  been  listening  to  the  Squire's  story;  "  I  tell'd 
our  folks  at  hum,  yesterday,  that  I  hadn't  any  doubt  but 
Puddleford  would  be  turned  ensido  out  'bout  that." 

"  Yes  !  "  continued  the  Squire,  "  Tibbits  wants  to  bring 
suit  —  but  I  tell'd  Tibbits  that  I  wanted  to  know  how 
much  the  cow  was  worth.  '  Fourteen  dollars,'  said  he. 
'  How  much  was  the  rifle  worth  ?  ;  '  'Bout  the  same/ 
said  he.  '  Jest  a  set-off/  said  I ;  '  the  rifle  pays  for  the 
cow,  and  the  cow  for  the  rifle.'  Tibbits  said  that  warn't 
la',  and  swore,  and  said  I  should  issue  the  writ.  I  threat- 
ened to  commit  him  for  contempt.  He  said  he'd  get  a 
ramdamus  (mandamus)  onter  me,  and  there  the  matter 
stands." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "you  do  have  trouble,  Squire  —  I'd 
resign." 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  141 

"  Nobody  to  fill  my  place/7  said  the  Squire,  pushing 
his  arms  down  into  his  breeches  pockets  and  stretching 
out  his  legs  and  throwing  his  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling  : — 
"  nobody  that  understands  the  stalerts." 

"  There's  Ike  Turtle/'  said  I. 

"  Ike  arri't  cool  enough  —  it  takes  a,  cool  man  for  justis 
in  these  parts —  a  man  that  arn't  afear'd  of  nothin'." 

"Just  so/'  said  I.  Here  was  a  rap,  and  Ike  Turtle, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bates,  and  many  others,  entered. 

We  had  a  house  full  nearly.  The  elements,  as  I  have 
said,  were  not  harmonious.  The  Birds,  and  Swipes,  and 
Beagles,  and  their  friends  were  huddled  together  by 
themselves  in  one  part  of  the  room,  and  Longbow  and  his 
friends  in  another.  You  might  hear  whispers  and  sup- 
pressed laughs,  and  Ohs  !  and  Ahs  !  from  the  circle  of  Mrs. 
Bird,  and  side-looks  and  other  manifestations  of  uneasiness. 

Ike  Turtle,  whose  knowledge  of  human  nature  was 
equal  to  his  humor,  after  eying  the  group  a  while,  con- 
cluded to  break  into  and  scatter  it,  if  possible.  So  turn- 
ing around  —  "Mrs.  Bird,  you  look  un-coraonly  well, 
to-day/'  he  said. 

"Think  I  do,"  replied  Mrs.  Bird,  pettishly. 

"  Why,  you  look  as  fresh  as  a  new-blown  rose." 

Mrs.  Bird  held  down  her  head,  and  actually  appeared 
confused.  Soon  she  gathered  courage  to  speak.  "  Why, 
Mr.  Turtle,  how  can  you  think  so  ?  I'm  an  old  woman." 

"Not  so  old,  arter  all,"  said  Ike;  " you've  taken  good 
care  of  your  sperits  and  complexion/' 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Bird  don't  use  sperits  I"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Brown,  looking  down  over  her  spectacles,  at  Ike,  with 
horror. 

"  Not  them  kind,"  said  Ike  —  "  but  her  nat'ral  sperits, 


142  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

I  mean.  Now,"  continued  Ike,  "  here's  Squire  Long- 
bow, past  fifty,  hearty  as  a  buck,  full-er  fire,  and  can  kick 
up  his  heels  as  high  as  his  head — all  owin'  to  his  sperits. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Bird  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bird  said  she  didn't  know  much  about  Squire 
Longbow. 

"  0,  nonsense  now — yes,  you  do  —  liv'd  neighbor  to  him 
in  Puddleford  these  ten  years  or  more.  But  if  there's  any 
doubt  about  it,  I'll  just  introduce  you.  Squire  Longbow," 
continued  Ike,  rising  and  pointing  to  Mrs.  Bird  —  "Mrs. 
Bird  —  Mrs.  Bird,  Squire  Longbow.  And  here's  Mrs. 
Beagle  and  Mrs.  Swipes  —  all  of  Puddleford  —  maybe 
37ou  don't  know  'em  —  all  old  residcnters  —  come  in 
when  the  country  was  new,  and  have  cut  their  own  fodder 
ever  since." 

The  Squire  rose,  bowed,  and  said  —  he  "  know'd  'em 
all,  and  was  glad  to  meet  'em  looking  so  fust  rate." 

"  Now,"  said  Ike,  "  I've  introduced  you,  enjoy  your- 
selves." 

This  movement  of  Ike's  broke  the  ice.  The  clique 
relaxed  their  brows,  and  conversation  grew  more  general. 

"Is  Lavinny  at  school  this  winter  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Beagles  of  the  Squire. 

"  Yes,  marm,  she  is  —  studying  'stronomy —  got  intl|K 
the  fix'd  stars  last  week  —  and  will  be  onter  Capercorn, 
byme-by." 

"Bless  my  soul!  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora,  her  knit- 
ting-needles rattling  with  surprise,  "  how  did  she  get  out 
—  got  into  the  stars  ?  " 

"  Yes,  marm,"  continued  the  Squire,  "  she  larned  her- 
self inter  'em  —  and  she  knows  all  'bout  'em  —  what 
they're  there  for  —  and  who  put  'em  there  —  jest  as 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  143 

much  as  though  she'd  lived  six  months  on  the  spot. 
And  then,  Mrs.  Beagle,  she's  up  to  her  eyes  in  hist'ry. 
She  Uilks  'bout  the  Caesars  and  'Gustuses  jest  as  though 
she'd  allers  know'd  'em.  Tells  all  about  how  Christopher 
Columbus  came  over  with  the  Puritans  and  settled  onter 
Plymouth  rock,  'cause  Richard  Third,  king-er  Spain,  got 
mad  at  'em,  'cause  they  would  kiss  the  Pope's  toe." 

"  Dear  me  suz,  I  wanter  know,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brown 
again. 

"  And  then  she's  at  the  head  in  the  gography  class  — 
she's  draw'd  a  map  of  the  Cannibal  Islands  —  and  on  one 
on  'em,  Capt'n  Cook  lies  with  his  head  off",  crying  for 
marcy  —  and  she  says,  down  onter  the  squator  it  don't 
never  snow,  nor  nothin',  and  it's  hotter  than  blue-blazes, 
in  the  winter  —  and  when  it  thunders  and  litenins,  it 
tears  everything  inter  pieces  —  she's  goin'  ahead  won- 
derfully, Mrs.  Beagle." 

"  Well,  now,  that  is  satisfying,"  said  Mrs.  Beagle.  "  It 
does  one  so  much  good  to  see  one's  children  get  larnin'  I  " 

"That's  just  what  I  tell'd  Mr.  Brown  when  Jim  was 
first  born,"  said  Aunt  Sonora.'  "  I  tell'd  him  the  boy 
had  genus,  for  there  never  was  one  of  our  family  that 
didn't.  '  But  you've  got-ter  give  him  schooling,'  said  I, 
'  to  bring  it  out.'  And  so  he  did  —  and  you  orter  to  have 
see'd  how  he  run'd  to  books  and  newspapers.  When  he 
was  fifteen,  he  tell'd  the  old  man,  as  he  called  his  father, 
he  orter  to  go  to  district-school  —  (he  was  a  wonderful 
boy ;  know'd  everything,  then)  —  that  he  was  way 
ahind  the  age.  Then  he  went  off  a  roamin',  a  seekin' 
his  fortiri'  —  and  when  he  com'd  back,  nobody  would 
know'd  him  —  he  was  so  improved  —  he  fling'd  his  legs 
onter  to  the  stove,  and  smoked  and  chewed,  and  talk'd 


144  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

about  furrin  parts  —  and  didn't  take  any  notice  of  the 
old  man  —  said  how  the  old  man  didn't  know  nothin'  — 
(warri't  he  genus,  Squire  Longbow  ?  )  —  he  wouldn't 
work  any,  because  he  said  genuses  never  work'd  —  that 
they  wouldn't  be  genuses  if  they  did  —  he  made  the  old 
man  give  him  a  fast  horse,  and  a  p'inter  dog,  and  a  gun, 
all  kivered  with  silver  plates,  and  then  he  rid,  and  hunted, 
and  courted  —  (warn't  he  genus  ?)  —  he  courted  Squire 
Boson's  darter,  and  Mr.  Fogg's  two  darters,  and  all  the 
gals  in  the  western  settlement,  till  he  finally  settled  down, 

as  I  was  tellin'  Mr. a  while   ago,  into  jest  as  much 

of  a  genus  as  ever  — the  dear  massy  on  us,  what  won't 
larnin'  do?" 

"  'S'prisin'  boy/'  answered  the  Squire. 

The  conversation  ran  on  about  everything,  until  Ike 
had  really  broken  up  the  clique  of  Bird  &  Co.,  and  one 
would  have  thought  there  never  had  been  a  social  war  in 
Puddleford.  There  never  lived  a  mortal,  I  believe,  who 
could  hold  out  against  the  humor  of  Ike  Turtle.  He  mag- 
netized all  who  came  within  his  influence.  He  was  shrewd, 
keen,  far-seeing,  full  of  good  sense,  and  had  a  stock  of 
fun  that  was  positively  inexhaustible.  Ike,  in  reality, 
never  cared  about  the  antipathy  of  Bird,  Beagle  &  Co.  — 
all  their  malice  and  slander  had  never  "  ruffled  a  feather,'' 
as  he  used  to  say.  He  was  amusing  himself  in  the  ex- 
periments he  had  been  making  to  bring  the  factions 
together  ;  but  he  did  not  in  fact  care  whether  they  ever 
came  together  or  not. 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  after  "  supper," 
as  Mrs.  Sonora  called  it,  had  passed  off,  Ike  inquired  of 
me  if  my  fiddle  was  in  the  house,  as  he  intended  to  have 
Squire  Longbow,  Aunt  Sonora,  Mrs.  Bird,  Swipes,  and 
"  all  hands,"  dancing  before  the  company  broke  up. 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  145 

The  fiddle  was  produced  —  rather  an  asthmatic  instru- 
ment —  that  strayed  into  the  country  among  my  lumber, 
and  was  somewhat  out  of  order.  Ike  tinkered  it  up  with 
his  jack-knife,  until  it  finally  emitted  a  few  strains  of 
something  like  music.  He  then  played  "  Over  the  Hills/' 
"  Fisher's  Hornpipe/'  and  several  other  lively  airs,  until 
old  Squire  Longbow  unconsciously  began  to  rap  the  time 
with  his  heels,  and  Mrs.  Bird  to  grow  quite  nettlesome. 

Ike  finally  bowed  himself  up  to  Mrs.  Bird,  sawing 
away  all  the  time  on  his  fiddle  —  and  declared  that 
"  nothing  on  airth  would  do  him  so  much  good  as  a  coun- 
try dance,  and  she  must  consent  to  walk  straight  out 
without  wincing/'  Mrs.  Bird  looked  pleased  and  pro- 
voked, by  turns,  but  she  finally  took  Ike's  arm,  and  was 
duly  placed  on  the  floor.  Squire  Longbow  arid  Mrs. 
Sonora  were  next  hauled  out  by  Ike  :  Mrs.  Swipes  and 
Sile  Bates,  and  so  on,  until  he  had  united  (with  the 
exception  of  Squire  Longbow  and  partner)  the  most  dis- 
cordant elements  of  Puddleford. 

The  dance  opened,  Ike  himself  fiddling,  snuffling,  and 
calling  off.  He  and  Mrs.  Bird  went  down  in  the  middle, 
up  outside,  and  crossed  over,  Ike's  feet  playing  all  the 
while  like  drum-sticks  to  the  music  of  "Fisher's  Horn- 
pipe," which  he  was  sawing  off  with  inconceivable 
rapidity,  while  Mrs.  Bird  followed  after  him,  panting  and 
blowing,  without  much  regard  to  4,ime  or  tune. 

Squire  Longbow  and  Mrs.  Souora  trotted  through  their 
parts  —  Mrs.  Sonora  having  declared,  before  she  took 
the  floor,  "  that  she  never  was  one  of  them  are  dancing 
critters,  but  she'd  try  and  hobble  through  the  figger  the 
best  she  could." 

By  and  by  the  general  "wind-up"  came,  when  "all 
10 


146  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

hands  "  went  into  it  heart  and  soul.  Ike's  fiddle,  and 
Ike's  voice,  and  the  pattering  of  feet,  were  all  that  was 
heard.  "  Right  and  left !  '7  "  Cross  over  !  "  "  Don't  run 
agin  Mrs.  Bird,  Squire  Longbow!'7  "A  leetle  faster, 
Mrs.  Swipes  !  "  "  Pardners  keep  clus  arter  one  another  !  " 
"Don't  cave!"  "  Not  quite  so  much  cavortin'  down  thar!1' 
exclaimed  Ike,  giving  expression  to  his  words  with  his 
bow,  when  at  last  he  drew  the  whole  to  a  close  by  a 
long,  high  squeak,  and  the  company  rushed  to  their  seats 
puffing,  and  covered  with  perspiration. 

This  movement  of  Ike's  was  a  masterly  performance. 
He  had  actually  danced  with  Mrs.  Bird,  one  of  his  bit- 
terest enemies.  He  had  melted  the  two  hostile  cliques 
of  Puddleford  into  one.  His  flattery  and  music  had  ac- 
complished this,  and  it  was  productive  of  lasting  good, 
for  the  war  from  this  time  began  to  decline  in  Puddleford, 
and  the  hostile  cliques  were  finally  dissolved. 

Perhaps  the  reader  is  disposed  to  smile  at  my  descrip- 
tion of  a  Puddle  ford  tea-party.  Perhaps  he  thinks  the 
ingenuousness  of  Aunt  Sonora,  the  free-and-easy  humor 
of  Jke  Turtle,  the  peevish  jealousy  of  Mrs.  Bird,  are  the 
fruit  simply  of  what  he  terms  "  western  vulgarity.77 
Don't  be  too  fast,  my  friend.  You  belong,  perhaps,  to  a 
society  that  wears  a  mask  —  made  up,  nevertheless,  of 
"envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness.77  Your 
Mrs.  Bird  is  just  as  jealous,  but  for  another  reason,  and 
with  this  difference,  too,  that  she  can  smile  upon  her  bit- 
terest enemy,  when  and  where  the  rules  of  fashionable 
life  demand  it.  You've  got  a  Squire  Longbow  or  two 
with  you  in  all  probability  —  not  dressed  in  homespun, 
but  "  broadcloth"  —  one  who  has  been  favored  by  fortune, 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  14  f 

and  no  god  beside  —  one  who  hums  and  haws,  and  looks 
as  wise  and  solemn  as  an  owl,  and  to  whom,  perhaps,  you 
'  unconsciously  pay  homage.  We  are  all  alike,  dear 
reader  —  we  look  at  your  society  through  the  telescope 
of  education  and  refinement  —  at  Puddleford,  with  tl:  o 
naked  eye. 


148  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mrs.  Longbow  taken  sick.  —  General  Interest.  —  Dr.  Teazle.  —  Ilia 
Visit.  —  "  The  Rattles." —  Scientific  Diagnosis.  — A  Prescription. 
—  Short  and  Dr.  Dobbs.  —  "  Pantod  of  the  Heart."  —  Dismissal 
of  Teazle.  —  Installation  of  Dobbs.  —  Scyller  and  Charafo'des."  — 
Ike's  Views.  —  The  Colonel's.  —  Bates's.  —  Mrs.  Longbow  dies.  — • 
Who  killed  her  :  conflicting  Opinions.  —  Her  Funeral.  —  Bigelow 
Van  Slyck's  Sermon.  —  Interment. 

"VTOT  long  after  this  jolly  little  gathering  at  my  house, 
•*- *  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Longbow  was  sick.  Her  symp- 
toms were  very  alarming,  and,  as  she  was  the  wife  of 
Squire  Longbow,  and  as  the  Squire  was  the  man  of  Pud- 
dleford,  her  critical  condition  was  a  matter  of  public 
concern. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Squire  Longbow's  woman  ?  " 
"  How  did  she  rest  last  night  ?  "  "  Did  she  roll  and 
tumble  much  ?  "  "  Is  her  fever  brok't  onto  her  ?  "  were 
questions  frequently  put.  Now  Mrs.  Longbow  was  a 
very  worthy  person,  and  entitled  to  all  the  sympathy 
she  received ;  but  that  is  not  to  be  the  subject  of  this 
chapter. 

When  Mrs.  Longbow  was  first  taken  ill,  Dr.  Teazle 
was  called — yes,  reader,  Dr.  Teazle  —  who  had  been  as 
good  authority  in  medicine,  as  Longbow  ever  was  in  law. 
I  say  had  been  —  "  Things  were  different  now." 

Teazle  was  one  of  the  pioneers  of  Puddleford.     He 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  J49 

was  there  when  the  first  log-house  was  laid  up  • — the  first 
field  cleared  —  the  first  child  born.  Teazle  possessed  a 
very  little  learning,  a  very  great  deal  of  impudence,  and 
a  never-ending  flow  of  language.  He  was  opinionated, 
and  tolerated  no  practice  but  his  own.  (What  physician 
ever  did?)  Teazle  never  let  a  doubt  enter  his  mind  — 
he  intuitively  read  a  case,  as  rapidly  as  though  he  were 
reading  a  printed  statement  of  it.  Teazle  was  about  the 
size  of  Longbow,  but  he  had  two  eyes. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  attackted  ? "  inquired 
Teazle,  approaching  the  bedside  of  Mrs.  Longbow,  and 
placing  his  fingers  over  the  lady's  pulse. 

Mrs.  Longbow  said  "  it  was  some  time  during  the 
night.77 

"  Run  out  your  tongue/'  continued  Teazle. 

Mrs.  Longbow  obeyed. 

"  Very  bad  tongue  —  all  fulPer  stuff  —  you  ain't  well, 
Mrs.  Longbow  ;  there's  a  kind  of  collapse  of  the  whole 
system,  and  a  sort  of  debility  going  on,  everywhere  all 
over  you." 

Squire  Longbow,  who  sat  by,  anxiously  inquired  what 
the  disease  was. 

Teazle  said  it  might  be  a  sour  stomach,  or  it  might  be 
fever,  or  it  might  be  rheumatiz,  or  it  might  be  the  liver, 
or  it  might  be  that  something  else  was  out  of  order  — 
or  it  might  be  the  rattles. 

"Dear  me  !  "  exclaimed  the   Squire,   "the  rattles  — 
what  is  that  ?  " 

"  The  rattles,"  answered  Teazle,  "  the  rattles  is  a 
disease  treated  of  in  the  books  —  Folks  catcli  cold  ;  the 
nose  stops  up  ;  the  throat  gets  sore,  and  there  is  a  kind 
of  rattling  going  on  when  they  breathe,  whether  we  can 
hear  it  or  not  —  and  that's  tiie  rattles." 


150  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

Mrs.  Longbow  said  "  she  hadn't  got  any  rattles  as 
she  know'd  on." 

Teazle  said  he  would  make  up  a  prescription  that 
would  make  a  sure  business  of  it,  as  he  always  did  when 
he  was  in  doubt.  "  lie  would  prepare  a  compound  of 
the  particular  medicines  used  for  the  particular  diseases 
he  had  mentioned,  and  fire  at  random,  and  some  of  the 
shot  would  hit,  he  knew." 

"  Gracious  !  doctor  !  "  exclaimed  Longbow,  "  what 
comes  of  the  rest  on  'em  ?  " 

"All  passes  off — all  passes  off,"  answered  Teazle 
glibly,  with  a  flourish  of  the  hand,  "  through  the  pores  of 
the  skin  —  "  continued  Teazle  ;  "  and  you  must  also  take 
four  quarts-er  water,  two  pouiids-er  salt,  a  gill-er  mo- 
lasses, a  little  'cumfrey  root,  some  catnip  blows  (but 
mind  don't  get  in  any  of  the  leaves  ;  that'll  kill  her), 
stir  it  all  up  together,  and  soak  her  feet  just  ten  minutes  ; 
then  get  five  cents  worth-er  sassyfarilla,  three  cents 
worth-er  some  kind  of  physic,  pour  in  some  caster-ile, 
and  I'll  put  in  some  intergredieuces  and  stuffs,  and  will 
give  it  inwardly  every  two  hours  ;  and  in  the  morning  I 
will  'quire  agin  into  the  condition  of  the  patient." 

This,  reader.,  was  the  result  of  Teazle's  call.  Mrs. 
Longbow  was  really  suffering  under  an  attack  of  bilious 
fever. 

In  a  few  days  there  was  an  uproar  among  the  physi- 
cians of  Puddleford.  Dr.  Short  and  Dr.  Dobbs  had  united 
their  influence  and  tongues  together,  and  Teazle  was  de- 
nounced as  a  quack  and  a  fool.  Short  and  Dobbs  never 
united  for  any  other  purpose  but  the  abuse  of  Teazle. 
Sometimes  Short  and  Teazle  abused  Dobbs,  and  some- 
times Dobbs  and  Teazle  abused  Short.  Short  declared 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  151 

that  "  Mrs.  Longbow  had  nothing  but  a  kind  of  in'ard 
strictur',  and  a  little  salts  would  clear  it  right  out." 

Dobbs  said  it  "  was  either  that  or  the  pantod  of  the 
heart,  and  that  Teazle's  medicine  would  lay  out  the  poor 
soul  as  cold  as  a  wedge." 

I  endeavored  to  ascertain  by  Dobbs  what  he  wished  us 
to  understand  by  "  pantod  of  the  heart." 

Dobbs  said  it  was  '•'  unpossible  for  him  to  explain  it 
without  the  books  —  it  was  something  that  laid  hold  of 
the  vessels  about  the  heart,  and  throw'd  everything  into 
a  flutter." 

The  war  went  on  —  Squire  Longbow's  friends  finally 
joined  the  force  of  opposition  to  Teazle  —  and  in  two  or 
three  days  Teazle  was  ejected  very  unceremoniously 
from  the  Squire's  house,  and  Dobbs  took  his  place. 

The  first  thing  Dobbs  did,  when  he  was  fairly  installed, 
was  to  gather  up,  and  pitch  headlong  into  the  fire,  all  of 
Teazle's  remaining  medicines.  He  wondered  whether 
Teazle  "  really  intended  to  kill  Mrs.  Longbow  !  Perhaps 
he  was  only  a  fool !  "  The  whole  system  of  practice  was 
now  changed.  A  new  administration  had  come  into 
power,  and  with  it  new  measures,  Dobbs  "  didn't  know 
but  he  might  raise  Mrs.  Longbow,  but  he  couldn't  hold 
himself  responsible  —  Teazle  had  nearly  finished  her  — 
but  he  would  try." 

Dobbs  immediately  introduced  a  seton  into  the  side  of 
his  patient,  "  to  get  up  a  greater  fluttering  somewhere 
else,  and  get  away  the  flutter  at  the  heart,  and  when  that 
went,  the  fever  would  go  away  with  it,"  he  said. 

Dobbs  moved  around  Puddleford  for  a  day  or  so,  with 
great  pomp  of  manner.  He  had  unseated  Teazle,  and  now 
occupied  his  place.  But  what  was  his  surprise  to  find 


152  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

Short  and  Teazle  united,  and  out  upon  him,  in  full  cry  ! 
Short  had  become  chagrined  because  Dobbs  had  been 
called  to  fill  the  place  of  Teazle,  instead  of  himself. 

The  war  was  renewed  with  increased  fury.  Dobbs's 
seton  failed  to  produce  the  desired  effect,  and  he,  there- 
fore, resorted  to  blistering  and  calomel.  In  a  week  he 
had  nearly  skinned  and  salivated  the  poor  woman,  and 
yet  she  lived.  The  fact  was,  Dobbs  was  a  greater  block- 
head than  Teazle,  if  that  were  possible.  Ike  Turtle  said 
the  "  old  '"oman  was  between  Scyller  and  Charafa'des  !  ''  — 
Ike  had  heard  this  classical  allusion  at  some  time,  —  "  and 
she'd  got-ter  go  for  it —  and  she'd  better  just  step  out  at 
onst,  and  save  trouble  and  expense.7' 

The  "  Colonel "  said  that  he  "once  read  a  story  in 
JEsop's  Fables,  called  the  '  Fox  and  the  Brambles/  and 
he  recollected  that  the  Fox  refused  to  shake  off  a  swarm 
of  flies  that  were  sucking  out  his  life-blood,  because  a 
more  hungry  swarm  would  succeed  ;  and  he  thought  Mrs. 
Longbow  made  a  great  mistake  in  discharging  Teazle  ; 
for  Teazle  had  exhausted  his  energies  upon  his  patient, 
and  nature  was  about  restoring  the  ruin  he  had  wrought/' 

Bates  expressed  a  different  opinion.  He  was  a  strong 
advocate  of  lobelia  and  cayenne-pepper  —  he  was,  in  short, 
a  supporter  of  the  "  hot- water  "  practice.  All  mineral 
medicine  Bates  declared  poisonous.  Bates  said  "  Nature 
knew  enough  to  take  care  of  herself —  for  every  disease 
a  remedy  had  been  provided  —  what  we  call  weeds  were 
all  valuable  remedies  ;  and  he  thought  Teazle  and  Dobbs 
ought  both  to  be  indicted  for  malpractice." 

This  war  between  men,  soon  became  a  war  of  systems. 
Philista  Filkins,  Aunt  Sonora,  Bates  &  Company,  raised 
a  tempest  around  Longbow's  ears  ;  and  Dobbs  was  finally 


HUMORS  OF  THE    WEST.  153 

thrown  overboard,  and  his  medicines  after  him  ;  and 
Mrs.  Filkins  was  placed  at  the  helm,  and  the  hot-water 
practice  introduced. 

But  what  is  the  use,  reader?  —  Mrs.  Longbow  died. 
Who  wouldn't?  Nature  cannot  endure  everything  — 
she  died,  and  was  buried.  But  who  killed  her  ?  That 
was  a  question  for  months  afterwards.  Dobbs  said 
Teazle  —  Teazle  said  Dobbs;  and  Teazle  and  Dobbs, 
when  talking  together  on  the  subject,  said  Mrs.  Filkins  — 
and  Bates  said  "the  calomel"  —  and  Turtle  said  "  the 
'oman  had  been  conspir'd  agin,  and  was  killed/' 

I  attended  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Longbow.  A  funeral  is 
solemn  anywhere  —  in  the  wilderness  it  is  impressive. 
In  a  city  it  is  too  often  an  exhibition  of  pride,  carried 
down  to  the  very  gates  of  death  —  the  poor  handful  of 
dust  is  used  to  glorify,  a  little  longer,  the  living  —  it 
preaches  no  sermon,  chastens  no  feeling  ;  but  a  funeral 
in  the  wilderness  is  as  lonely  as  one  at  sea.  Nature  be- 
comes almost  oppressive.  The  scattered  population,  for 
miles  around,  gathered  at  the  log-chapel,  and  Bigelow 
Van  Slyck  preached  over  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Longbow. 
The  sermon  was  characteristic  of  Bigelow  —  strange  and 
inappropriate,  perhaps,  in  the  opinion  of  the  reader  ;  but, 
after  all,  the  very  thing  for  Bigelow's  audience.  This 
was  his  text :  "  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few 
days,  and  full  of  trouble  !  "'  Bigelow  said  his  "  text  used 
the  word  '  man  that  is  born/  &c.,  but  it  was  jest  as  ap- 
plicable to  a  woman  as  to  a  man,  for  woman  was,  after 
all,  a  kind  of  a  man  ;  not  that  a  woman  was  a  man,  nor  a 
man  a  woman  —  but  texts  allers  spoke  of  things  in 
general,  'cause  the  Bible  was  writ  for  all  time.7'  In 
dwelling  upon  the  words  "  that  is  born"  Bigelow  said, 


154  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  he  would  go  into  the  history  of  the  Longbow  family  " 
—  and  he  did  go  into  their  history,  with  a  vengeance. 
He  began  with  Squire  Longbow's  grandfather,  who,  he 
said,  "  fit  in  the  old  French  war/'  and  told  us  when  he 
was  born,  and  how  he  lived,  and  where  he  lived,  and 
when  he  died,  and  gave  us  a  kind  of  synopsis  of  the  old 
man's  services  in  the  flesh.  He  then  seized,  violently, 
hold  of  the  Squire  himself,  informed  us  he  was  born 
"  down  in  the  Pennsylvanys  'bout  the  old  Tom  Jef- 
ferson times,  was  the  last  of  ten  children,  whose  history 
he  couldn't  go  into  for  want  of  time  —  that  the  Squire 
hadn't  any  larnin'  until  after  he  becom'd  of  age,  and 
then  got  what  he  did  get  himself."  Bigelow  hoped  his 
audience  "  would  improve  on  this  lesson,  and  get  larnin' 
themselves/'  He  then  followed  up  the  Squire  through 
his  immigration  and  settlement  at  Puddleford,  and  in- 
formed us,  I  recollect,  among  other  things,  that  he  built 
the  first  frame-house,  being  "  twenty  feet  by  thirty-four." 
Bigelow  was  still  more  specific  in  his  history  of  Mrs. 
Longbow.  If  there  was  anything  overlooked  in  the  poor 
woman's  life,  I  do  not  know  what  it  was.  Bigelow 
labored  some  half  hour  over  her  virtues,  and  brought 
them  out  so  sj'stematically,  at  last,  that  the  list,  when 
completed,  reminded  me  of  an  inventory  of  the  personal 
effects  of  a  deceased  person  —  of  the  preparation  of  a 
document,  to  file  away  somewhere. 

The  latter  part  of  Bigelow's  text,  upon  the  brevity  of 
life,  was  well  managed  —  roughly,  perhaps,  but  pointedly. 
He  drew  copiously  from  nature,  by  way  of  illustration, 
as  all  persons  do  who  live  more  with  nature  than  with 
man.  "The  corn,"  he  remarked,  "  died  in  the  ground, 
sprouted,  grew  green,  then  the  blades  died  agin "  — 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  155 

"the  flowers  jest  breathed  a  few  times,  then  they  died77 

—  "  day  died  into  night,  and  night  died  in  the  morning  " 

—  "everything  died   everywhere;    and   man    died,   and 
woman  died,  and  we'd  all  got-ter  die."     I  have  selected 
only  a  few  sentences,  at  random,  from  this  part  of  Bige- 
low's  discourse. 

Then  there  was  an  address  to  the  audience,  an  address 
to  the  aged,  another  to  those  in  middle  life,  another  to 
the  young,  and  finally,  one  to  the  mourners,  standing. 
Some  two  hours  and  a  half  were  occupied  in  the  sermon 
altogether  ;  and  when  it  finally  closed,  the  remains  of 
Mrs.  Longbow  were  silently  and  sadly  deposited  in  the 
grave. 

The  death  of  Mrs.  Longbow  created  a  great  chasm  in 
society.  The  "settlement"  was  so  small,  that  the  loss 
of  any  one  was  severely  felt.  In  small  places,  every 
person  has  a  great  deal  of  individuality  —  in  large,  only 
here  arid  there  is  one  distinguished  from  "the  crowd." 
Mrs.  Longbow  was  certainly  fortunate  in  one  respect,  if 
she  was  unfortunate  in  another.  If  the  physicians  of 
Puddleford  hastened  her  end,  its  population  have  not  for- 
gotten her,  nor  her  many  virtues. 


156  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Squire  Longbow  in  Mourning.  —  The  Great  Question.  —  Aunt  So 
nora's  Opinion.  —  Other  People's. — The  Squire  goes  to  Church. 

—  His  Appearance  on  that  Occasion.  —  Aunt  Graves,   and    her 
Extra    Performance.  —  "  Nux    Vomica."  — Anxious   Mothers.  — 
Mary  Jane  Arabella  Swipes.  —  Sister  Abigail.  —  Ike  Turtle,  and 
his  Designs. — He  calls  on  Aunt  Graves.  —  She'll  go  it.  —  Sister 
Abigail's    Objection.  —  The    Squire's   First  Love    Letter.  —  The 
Wedding.  —  Great     Getting-up.  —  Turtle's     Examination.  —  The 
Squire  runs  the  Risk  of  "the  Staterts."  —  Bigelow's  Ceremony. 

—  General  Break-Down.  — Not  Very  Drunk. 

SQUIRE  LONGBOW  sincerely  mourned  the  loss  of  his 
wife  —  internally  and  externally.  Externally,  he  was 
one  of  the  strongest  mourners  I  ever  saw.  He  wore  a 
weed,  floating  from  his  hat,  nearly  a  foot  long.  It  was 
the  longest  weed  that  had  ever  been  mounted  at  Puddle- 
ford  ;  but  our  readers  must  not  forget  who  Squire  Long- 
bow was  —  a  magistrate,  and  leading  man  in  community. 
And  while  the  reader  is  about  it,  he  may  also  recollect 
that  the  Squire  is  not  the  only  man,  east  or  west,  who 
has  ventured  upon  a  little  ostentation  over  the  grave  of 
the  departed  —  nor  woman  either. 

Who  was  to  be  the  next  Mrs.  Longbow  ?  That  was 
the  question.  The  public,  indeed,  asked  it  long  before 
the  Squire.  Who  was  to  have  the  honor  of  presiding  at 
the  Squire's  table  ?  What  woman  was  to  be  placed  at 
the  head  of  society  in  Puddleford  ?  The  Swipeses  and 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  157 

Beagles,  Aunt  Sonora,  Aunt  Graves,  and  Sister  Abigail, 
and  scores  of  others,  all  began  to  speculate  upon  this 
important  subject.  Even  Turtle  and  Bates  indulged  in  a 
few  general  remarks. 

Aunt  Sonora  gave  it  as  her  mind,  that  "the  Squire 
ought  to  be  pretty  skeery  how  he  married  anybody,  kase 
if  he  got  one  of  them  flipper-ter-gibbet  sort  o'  wimmin, 
she'd  turn  the  whole  house  enside  out,  and  he'd  be  o;ie 
of  the  most  miserablest  of  all  men."  She  said,  "if  he 
know'd  what  was  good  for  himself,  he'd  jest  keep  clear 
of  all  the  young  gals  that  were  fussing  and  figeting  round 
him,  and  go  right  in  for  some  old  stand-by  of  a  woman, 
that  know'd  how  to  take  the  brunt  of  things  —  but,  lors. 
a-me,"  continued  Aunt  Sonora,  "  there's  no  doing  nothing 
with  these  old  widowers  —  they're  all  like  my  Uncle  Jo, 
who  married  in  a  hurry,  and  repented  arterwards — and 
the  poor  dear  old  soul  arn't  had  a  minute's  peace  since." 

The  Swipeses  and  Beagles,  who,  it  will  be  recollected, 
belonged  to  a  clique  that  had,  in  times  past,  warred 
against  Longbow  &  Co.,  "  tho't  it  would  be  shameful  for 
the  Squire  to  marry  at  all  —  it  would  be  an  insult  agin 
the  memory  of  poor,  old  Mrs.  Longbow,  who  was  dead 
and  gone."  (Some  people,  you  know,  reader,  abuse  the 
living,  but  defend  the  dead.)  "  And  if  the  Squire  should 
marry,  they  should  think,  for  their  part,  that  she'd  rise  up 
out  of  her  grave,  arid  haunt  him  !  She  could  never  sleep 
easy,  if  she  know'd  that  the  Squire  had  got  some  other 
woman,  who  was  eating  her  preserves,  and  wearing  out 
her  clothes,  and  lording  it  over  the  house  like  all  pos- 
sess'd." 

Other  opinions  were  expressed  by  other  persons  —  in 
fact,  the  Squire's  widowhood  was  the  great  concern  of 


158  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

Puddleford.  "He  was  so  well  on  to  do/'  as  Aunt  So- 
nora  used  to  call  it,  that  he  was  considered  a  great 
"catch." 

After  a  few  weeks  of  sorrow,  the  Squire  himself  really 
began  to  entertain  notions  of  matrimony.  It  is  true  he 
had  passed  the  age  of  sixty,  and  it  required  a  great  ef- 
fort to  get  up  a  sufficient  amount  of  romance  to  carry  out 
such  an  enterprise.  Symptoms  began,  however,  to  wax 
strong.  The  first  alarming  indication  was  his  attendance 
at  church.  The  Squire  had  always  been  a  kind  of  hea- 
then in  this  respect,  and  had  for  many  years  set  a  poor 
example ;  but  people,  who  want  to  marry,  will  go  to 
church.  Whether  this  is  done  to  get  up  a  reputation,  or 
simply  to  take  a  survey  of  the  unappropriated  female 
stock  yet  remaining  on  hand,  I  cannot  say. 

The  Squire  was  "fixed  up  "  amazingly,  the  first  time 
I  saw  him  at  church.  His  hair  had  been  cut,  and  thor- 
oughly greased.  His  shirt-collar  covered  his  ears  ;  and  his 
booty  shone  like  a  mirror.  Aunt  Sonora  said  he  looked 
"enymost  as  good  as  new. "  Aunt  Graves  was  in  the 
choir  that  day,  and  she  sang  as  she  never  sang  before. 
She  blowed  all  the  heavy  strains  of  music  —  strains  that 
lifted  her  on  her  toes  —  directly  into  Squire  Longbow's 
face.  Whether  Aunt  Graves  had  any  design  in  this,  is 
more  than  I  can  say  ;  but  I  noticed  some  twinges  about 
the  Squire's  lips,  and  a  sleepy  wink  of  the  eye,  that 
looked  a  little  like  magnetism.  It  was  ridiculous,  too, 
that  such  an  old  castle  should  be  stormed  by  music. 

But  the  Squire  exhibited  other  symptoms  of  matrimony. 
He  grew  more  pompous  in  his  decisions,  disposed  of  cases 
more  summarily,  and  quoted  law  Latin  more  frequently. 
It  was  about  this  time  that  he  talked  about  the  "  nux 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  159 

vomica,"  instead  of  the  "  vox  Populi"  lie  used  to 
"  squash "  proceedings  before  the  case  was  half  pre- 
sented ;  and,  in  the  language  of  Turtle,  "  he  tore  around 
at  a  great  rate.75  Turtle  said,  "  the  old  Squire  was  get- 
ting to  be  an  old  fool,  and  he  was  goin'  to  have  him  mar- 
ried, or  dismissed  from  office  —  there  warn't  no  liviu'  with 
him." 

There  were  a  great  many  anxious  mothers  about  Pud- 
dleford  who  were  very  desirous  of  forming  an  alliance 
with  the  Longbow  family.  Even  Mrs.  Swipes,  as  much 
as  she  openly  oposed  the  Squire's  marriage  in  general, 
secretly  hoped  a  spark  might  be  struck  up  between  him 
and  her  daughter,  Mary  Jane  Arabella  Swipes  ;  and  Mrs. 
Swipes  was  in  the  habit  of  sending  her  daughter  over  to 
the  Squire's  house,  to  inquire  of  him  "  to  know  if  she 
couldn't  do  sunthin'  for  him  in  his  melancholy  condition  ;" 
and  Sister  Abigail  went  down  several  times  to  "  put 
things  to  rights/'  and  was  as  kind  and  obliging,  and  at- 
tentive to  all  the  Squire's  wants,  as  ever  Mrs.  Longbow 
was  in  her  palmiest  days.  On  these  occasions,  Sister 
Abigail  used  frequently  to  remind  the  Squire  of  "  his 
great  bereavement,  and  what  an  angel  of  a  wife  he  had 
lost ;  and  that  things  didn't  look  as  they  used  to  do, 
when  she  was  around,  and  she  didn't  wonder  he  took  on 
so,  when  the  poor  thing  died." 

But,  reader,  Ike  Turtle  had  ordered  things  otherwise. 
He  was  determined  to  strike  up  a  match  between  the 
Squire  and  Aunt  Graves.  So  Ike  made  a  special  visit  to 
Aunt  Graves  one  evening,  for  the  purpose  of  "  survey- 
ing and  sounding  along  the  coast,  to  see  how  the  waters 
laid,  and  how  the  old  soul  would  take  it,"  to  use  his  lan- 
guage. 


160  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

I  have  already  given  an  outline  of  Aunt  Graves  ;  but 
I  will  now  say  further,  that  she  never  had  an  offer  of 
matrimony  in  her  whole  life.  She  was  what  is  termed  a 
"touchy"  old  maid.  She  professed  to  hate  men,  and 
affected  great  distress  of  mind  when  thrown  into  their 
society.  Aunt  Graves  was  just  ironing  down  the  seams 
of  a  coat  that  she  had  finished,  when  Ike  called. 

Ike  opened  the  conversation  by  reminding  Aunt  Graves 
that  "  she  was  livin'  along  kinder  lonely  like." 

"  Lonely  'nough,  I  s'pose,"  she  replied,  snappishly. 

"  Don't  you  never  have  the  blues,  and  get  sorter  ob- 
strep'rous  ?  " 

Aunt  Graves  "-didn't  know  as  she  did." 

"  Why,  in  the  name  of  old  Babylon,  don't  you  marry  ?  " 

"Marry?  me  marry  —  marry  a  man  —  a  great  awful 
man  !  "  and  the  iron  flew  through  the  seams  like  light- 
ning. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Ike,  "  marry  —  marry  a  man  — 
why,  woman,  you  are  getting  as  old  and  yellow  as  au- 
tumn leaves.  What  have  you  been  livin'  for  ?  — you've 
broken  all  the  laws  of  Scripter  inter  pieces  —  and  keep 
on  breakin'  on  'em  —  adding  sin  unto  sin,  and  transgres- 
sion unto  transgression,  and  the  thing's  got-ter  be  stopped. 
Now,  Aunt  Graves,  what  do  you  think  —  there's  Squire 
Longbow,  as  desolate  as  Sodom,  and  he's  got-ter  have  a 
woman,  or  the  old  mari'll  run  as  crazy  as  a  loon  a-thirikin' 
'bout  his  household  affairs;  and  you  know  how  to  cook, 
and  to  wash,  and  to  iron,  to  make  pickles  and  soap  ;  and 
then,  you're  a  proper  age  —  what  say  ?  " 

Aunt  Graves  ran  to  the  fire,  plunged  her  goose  into 
the  ashes,  and  gave  the  coals  a  smart  stir.  She  then 
dropped  down  in  her  large  rocking-chair,  leaned  her  cheek 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  161 

upon  her  elbow,  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  and  came 
near  going  off  into  hysterics. 

Ike  dashed  a  little  water  into  Aunt  Graves'  face,  and 
she  revived.  After  having  gained  strength,  she  replied 
in  substance  to  Ike's  query  in  a  very  languishing,  die- 
away  air  :  "  She  couldn't  say  —  she  didn't  know  —  if  it 
was  a  duty  —  if  she  could  really  believe  it  was  a  duty  — 
if  she  was  called  on  to  fill  poor  old  dead-and-gone  Mrs. 
Longbow's  place  —  folks  were  born  inter  the  world  to  do 
good,  and  she  had  so  far  been  one  of  the  most  unprofita- 
blest  of  sarvants  ;  but  she  could  never  marry  on  her  own 
account —  " 

"  In  other  words,"  exclaimed  Ike,  cutting  her  short, 
"you'll  go  it." 

Aunt  Graves  agreed  to  "  reflect  on't." 

It  was  not  long  after  this  consultation  that  Mrs.  Swipes 
began  to  "  smell  a  rat,"  as  she  said.  She  commanded 
Mary  Jane  Arabella  "  never  to  darken  the  doors  of  that 
old  hog,  Longbow,  agin  ;  and  as  for  that  female  critter, 
Graves,  she'd  got  a  husband  living  down  at  the  Eastward, 
and  they'd  all  get  into  prison  for  life,  the  first  thing  they 
know'd." 

Sister  Abigail  declared,  '/she'd  have  Aunt  Graves 
turned  out  of  church,  if  she  married  a  man  who  warn't  a 
member."  This  was  a  great  deal  for  Sister  Abigail  to 
sa}r,  for  she  had  been  the  bosom  friend  of  Aunt  Graves  : 
"people  out  of  the  church,  and  people  in  the  church, 
shouldn't  orter  jine  themselves  together  —  it  was  agin 
Scripter,  and  would  get  everything  inter  a  twist." 

But  Ike  Turtle  had  decreed  that  the  marriage  should 
go  on.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  indite  the  first  letter 
of  the  Squire's  to  Aunt  Graves.  This  letter,  which  Ike 
11 


162  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

exhibited  to  his  friends,  as  one  of  his  best  literary  speci- 
mens, was  indeed  a  curiosity.  I  presume  there  is  noth- 
ing else  like  it  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  It  opened 
by  informing  Aunt  Graves  that  since  the  "loss  of  his 
woman,  he  had  felt  very  grievous-like,  and  couldn't 
fix  his  mind  onto  anything  —  that  the  world  didn't  seem 
at  all  as  it  used  to  do  —  that  he  and  his  woman  had 
liv'd  in  peace  for  thirty  years,  and  the  marriage  state  was 
natural  to  him  —  that  he  had  always  lik'd  Aunt  Graves 
since  the  very  first  time  he  sec'd  her,  and  so  did  his  wo- 
man too ;  "  and  many  more  declarations  of  similar  im- 
port, and  it  was  signed  "  J.  Longbow,  Justice  of  the 
Peace/'  and  sealed  too,  like  his  legal  processes,  that  his 
dignity  might  command,  even  if  his  person  did  not  win, 
the  affections  of  this  elderly  damsel. 

Aunt  Graves  surrendered  —  and  all  this  within  two 
months  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Longbow.  The  Squire 
cast  off  his  weeds,  and  made  violent  preparations  for 
matrimony  ;  and  on  a  certain  night  —  I  shall  never  forget 
it  —  the  affair  came  off. 

There  was  a  great  gathering  at  the  Squire's — a  sort 
of  general  invitation  had  been  extended  far  and  near  — 
the  Swipeses  and  Beagles,  Aunt  Sonora,  and  all.  Great 
preparations  had  been  made  in  the  way  of  eatables.  The 
Squire  was  rigged  in  a  new  suit  of  "  home-made,"  (made 
by  Mrs.  Longbow,  too,  in  her  life-time),  —  a  white  vest, 
and  he  wore  a  cotton  bandana  neck-handkerchief,  with 
heavy  bows,  that  buried  his  chin,  and  a  pair  of  purnps 
and  clouded  blue  stockings.  Aunt  Graves'  dress  cannot 
be  described.  She  was  a  mass  of  fluttering  ribbons,  and 
she  looked  as  though  she  would  take  wings  and  fly  away. 

Bigelow  Van  Slyck  and  Ike  Turtle  conducted  the  mar- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  163 

riage  ceremony  —  the  one  took  the  ecclesiastical,  the 
other  the  civil  management.  When  the  couple  were 
ready,  Turtle  sat  down  in  front  of  them  with  the  statutes 
under  his  arm,  with  Bigelow  at  his  right  hand. 

Turtle  examined  the  statutes  amid  profound  silence  for 
some  time,  turning  down  one  leaf  here  and  another  there, 
until  he  found  himself  thoroughly  prepared  for  the  sol- 
emn occasion.  Finally,  he  arose,  and  with  a  gravity 
that  no  man  ever  put  on  before  or  since,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Miss  Graves,  hold  up  your  right  hand  and  swear." 

Miss  Graves  said  "  she  was  a  member  of  the  church, 
and  dar'sent  swear." 

IkeJ^id  it  was  "  legal  swearing  he  wanted,  'cording 
to  the  staterts  —  not  the  wicked  sort  —  he  wanted  her 
to  swear  that  she  was  over  fourteen  years  of  age  — 
hadn't  got  no  husband  living,  nowhere  —  warn't  goin'  to 
practise  no  fraud  nor  nothin'  on  Squire  Longbow  —  and 
that  she'd  jest  as  good  a  right  to  get  married  now  as  she 
ever  had." 

Miss  Graves  looked  blank. 

Squire  Longbow  said  "  he'd  run  the  risk  of  the  four- 
teen years  of  age  and  the  fraud,  and  finally  he  would  of 
the  whole  on't.  The  staterts  was  well  enough,  but  it 
warn't  to  be  presumed  that  a  justice  of  the  peace  would 
run  agin  'em.  Some  folks  didn't  know  'em  —  he  did." 

Ike  said  "there  was  something  another  in  the  statert 
about  wimin's  doing  thkigs  '  without  any  fear  or  com- 
pulsion of  anybody,7  and  he  guessed  he'd  take  Miss 
Graves  into  another  room,  and  examine  her  separately 
and  apart  from  her  intended  husband."  This  was  a  joke 
of  Turtle's. 

The  Squire   said  "that   meant  married  wimin  —  arter 


164  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

the  ceremony  was  over,  that  ere  would  be  very  legal  and 
proper.7' 

Mrs.  Swipes  said,  "  for  her  part,  she  thought  the  oath 
or-ter  be  put  —  it  would  be  an  awful  thing  to  see  a  poor 
crctur  forced  into  marriage/' 

Sister  Abigail  thought  so,  too. 

Aunt  Sonora  hoped  there  wouldn't  be  nothin'  did 
wrong,  "  so  people  could  take  the  law  on  'em." 

Turtle  said,  "that  they  needn't  any  on  'em  fret  their 
gizzards  —  lie  was  responsible  for  the  la'  of  the  case." 

Bigelow  then  rose,  and  told  the  parties  to  jine  hands, 
and  while  they  were  jined,  he  wanted  the  whole  company 
to  sing  a  psalm. 

The  psalm  was  sung. 

Bigelow  then  commenced  the  wedding  process.  "  Squire 
Longbow,"  exclaimed  Bigelow  —  '  this  is  your  second 
wife,  and  some  folks  say  the  third,  and  I  hope  you  feel 
the  awful  position  in  which  you  find  yourself." 

The  Squire  said  "he  felt  easy  and  resigned  —  he'd 
gone  inter  it  from  respect  to  his  woman  who  was  now  no 
more." 

"  You  do  promise  to  take  this  ere  woman,  to  eat  her, 
and  drink  her,  and  keep  her  in  things  to  wear,  so  long 
as  you  and  she  lives." 

"  I  do  that  very  thing,"  responded  the  Squire. 

"  And  you,  on  your  part,"  continued  Bigelow,  turning 
to  Aunt  Graves,  "  promise  to  behave  yourself  and  obey 
the  Squire  in  all  things." 

Aunt  Graves  said  "  she  would,  Providence  permitting." 

This  marriage  ceremony,  I  believe,  is  nearly  word  for 
word. 

"  Then,"  said  Turtle,  "  wheel  yourselves  into  line,  and 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  165 

let's  have  a  dance  ;  "  and  drawing  out  his  fiddle ,  the 
whole  crowd,  in  five  minutes,  were  tearing  down  at  a 
most  furious  rate  ;  and  when  I  departed,  at  about  mid- 
night, the  storm  was  raging  still  higher,  the  whiskey  and 
hot  water  circulated  freely,  Turtle  looked  quite  abstracted 
about  his  eyes,  and  his  footsteps  were  growing  more  and 
more  uncertain,  Bulliphant's  face  shone  like  a  full  moon, 
the  voices  of  the  females,  a  little  stimulated,  were  as 
noisy  and  confused  as  those  of  Babel,  and  your  humble 
servant  —  why,  he  walked  home  as  straight  as  a  gun  — 
of  course  he  did  —  and  was  able  to  distinguish  a  hay- 
stack from  a  meeting-house,  anywhere  along  the  road. 


166  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Group  at  "  The  Eagle."  —  Entree  of  a  Stranger.  —  His  Opinion 
of  the  Tavern.  —  Bulliphant  wakes  up.  —  Can't  pick  Fowls  after 
Dark.  —  Sad  Case  of  Mother  Gantlet  and  Dr.  Teazle.  —  Mr.  Far- 
indale  begins  to  unbend.  —  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  their  Attorney. 

—  Good  Pay.  —  Legal    Conversation.  —  Going  Sniping.  —  Great 
Description  of  the  Animal.  —  The  Party  start,  Farindale  holding 
the  Bag.  —  "  Waiting  for  Snipe."  —  Farindale's  Solitary  Return, 

—  His  Interview   with   Whistle  &   Sharp.  —  Suing  a  Puddleford 
Firm.  —  Relief   Laws.  —  Farindale   gets   his    Execution.  —  The 
Puddleford  Bank.  —  The  Appraisers.  —  Proceeds  of  the  Execu- 
tion. 

LATE  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  early  one  evening,  Turtle, 
Longbow,  Bates,  the  "  Colonel/7  Swipes,  and  Beagle 
were  congregated  at  the  Eagle.  Turtle  and  Bates  were 
engaged  at  a  game  of  checkers,  and  each  one,  fast-an- 
chored at  his  right  hand,  had  a  glass  of  whiskey  and 
water,  or,  as  Turtle  called  it,  "  a  little  diluted  bald-face. " 
Their  mouths  were  pierced  with  a  pipe,  in  the  left  hand 
corner,  which  hung  loosely  and  rakishly  down,  besmear- 
ing their  laps  with  ashes,  and  now  and  then  they  puffed 
forth  a  column  of  smoke.  The  "  Colonel,"  Longbow, 
and  the  other  Puddlcfordians  were  ranged  round  the  fire. 
The  Colonel  sat  in  a  rickety  chair,  his  feet  hoisted  up 
on  the  mantel  on  a  line  with  his  nose,  arid  his  shoulders 
hitched  over  the  ends  of  its  posts  ;  the  Squire  was  busily 
looking  into  the  glowing  coals,  his  hands  clasped  across 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  167 

his  breast,  unravelling  some  question  of  law,  and  Swipes 
sat  very  affectionately  on  Beagle's  lap,  his  right  arm 
thrown  around  his  neck. 

While  in  this  position,  aloud  call  of  "  Hallo  !  "  "  Land- 
lord !  "  "  0-r-s-t-ler ! "  was  heard  without. 

"  Stir  yer  stumps,  old  Boniface — a  traveller  in  dis- 
tress," exclaimed  Ike,  to  Bullipharit,  who  was  asleep  on  a 
wooden  box  behind  the  bar,  arid  was  snoring  louder  and 
louder  at  each  succeeding  blast. 

"  Another  two-and-sixpence,  old  free  and  easy,"  added 
Bates. 

"  This  ere's  a  licensed  tavern,  and  you  must  be  up  and 
doing,  or  the  la'  ?11  be  inter  you,"  gravely  remarked  the 
Squire. 

By  this  time  the  stranger  dashed  into  the  bar-room,  his 
face  flushed,  and  his  temper,  or  his  offended  dignity,  or 
both,  in  the  ascendant,  and  exclaimed,  ferociously,  "Is 
this  a  tavern  !  are  you  all  dead  !  where's  the  landlord  ! 
the  hostler  !  Got  any  hay  —  oats  !  —  anything  for  a 
gentleman  to  eat !  —  any  place  to  sleep  !  "  —  when  Bul- 
liphant  rubbed  open  his  eyes  with  the  knuckle  of  his  fore- 
finger, gave  a  sleepy  nod,  and  stumbled  towards  the 
door,  to  provide  for  his  furious  guest  and  his  horse. 

The  stranger  walked  into  the  bar-room,  unwound  two 
or  three  gaudy  shawls  from  his  neck,  took  off  an  over- 
coat, a  surtout-coat,  shed  a  pair  of  India-rubber  travelling- 
boots,  run  both  of  his  hands  deep  into  his  breeches- 
pockets,  took  half  a  dozen  pompous  strides  across  the 
floor,  looking  down  all  the  while  in  abstracted  mood  at 
his  feet,  paraded  before  a  glass,  twisted  one  of  the  locks 
of  his  hair  around  his  fore-finger,  and  finally  brought  up 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  where  he  stood,  his  hands  hold- 


168  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

ing  apart  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  and  his  attention  fixed 
upon  something  on  the  ceiling. 

Turtle  measured  him  with  his  eyes  several  times  from 
head  to  foot ;  the  "  Colonel  "  hitched  out  of  his  way  and 
begged  his  pardon,  when,  in  fact,  he  was  not  at  all  in 
his  way ;  the  Squire  was  quite  overcome  at  the  amount 
of  opposing  dignity-  brought  so  directly  in  contact  with 
him  ;  Bates  gravel}*-  whistled  Yankee  Doodle,  gazing  out 
of  the  window,  and  winked  over  his  shoulder  at  Beagle 
and  Swipes,  who  winked  back  again. 

Bulliphant  returned  wide  awake.  "  Any  turkeys  or 
chickens  ?  "  inquired  the  stranger. 

"  All  gone  to  roost,"  answered  Bulliphant,  with  a 
grave  kind  of  brevity. 

11  Take  a  broiled  chicken,"  said  the  stranger,  giving  a 
heavy  hawk,  with  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  spitting 
half  across  the  floor. 

"Have  to  take  it  feathers  and  all,  then,"  said  Bulli- 
phant —  "  wimin  folks  are  superstitious  —  don't  b'lieve 
it's  right  to  pick  fowls  in  the  night  —  'twas  jest  so  with 
my  wife's  grandmother  —  she  had  the  same  complaint." 

The  stranger  looked  very  hard  at  Bulliphant,  and  spit 
again,  somewhat  spitefully. 

"  Can  give  you  mush,  souse,  slap-jacks,  briled  pork," 
continued  Bulliphant,  looking  quizzically  towards  Turtle. 

The  stranger  said,  "  he  -thought  he'd  stopped  at  a 
tavern  —  but  he'd  a  great  deal  better  turned  himself  into 
the  woods,  and  browsed  for  supper  "  —  and  heaving  a 
long  sigh,  sat  down,  arid  crossed  his  legs  in  a  settled 
mood  of  desperation. 

Bulliphant  said  "there  warn't  no  cause  for  alarm  — 
he'd  seen  sicker  men  than  he  die —  and  get  well,  too." 


P1UMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  169 

The  stranger  grunted  and  shifted  his  legs. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  All  the  Puddlcf  /rdians, 
except  Ike  and  Bates,  who  were  absorbed  in  their 
game,  were  looking  soberly  and  steadily  into  the  burn* 
ing  logs. 

"  Turtle/'  exclaimed  Swipes,  at  last,  breaking  the  soli- 
tude —  "is  that  man  goin'  to  die  ?  " 

"  Can't  tell,"  replied  Turtle;  "his  life's  on  a  pize  — 
may  turn  one  way,  may  turn  t'other,"  and  he  took  out 
his  pipe,  and  blew  a  long  whiff. 

"  Sleep  well,  last  night  ?  " 

"  Groan'd  some  'bout  midnight*" 

Swipes  looked  very  sad,  and  the  stranger's  eyes  passed 
from  face  to  face  with  anxious  looks. 

"  Ain't  goin'  to  bleed  to  death  ?  " 

"  Not  zactly  that,  but  mortification's  goin'  to  set  in, 
and  he  cannot  stand  it  long,  when  that  takes  him." 

"  Dear  rne  !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 

"  Very  strange  case  !  "  added  the  Squire. 

"  Great  loss  !  "  rejoined  Bates. 

The  stranger,  who  was  none  other  than  the  junior 
member  of  the  firm  of  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale,  dry 
goods  merchants,  doing  business  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  and  who  was  out  at  Puddleford  hunting  up  the 
firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  a  couple  of  debtors,  whose 
account  had  been  in  the  rear  for  some  time  —  the 
stranger,  I  say,  became  very  anxious  to  hear  the  par 
ticulars  of  the  man  whose  life  was  in  jeopardy  — •  and 
he  exclaimed  before  he  thought  —  "  What  is  it,  ggntle- 
meri  ?  —  who's  hurt  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Ike,  his  face  all  the  while  cast  iron,  and 
his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  his  game  ;  "  why,  you  see,  old 


UO  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

mother  Gantlet  was  took  with  a  violent  mis'ry  in  her 
head — sent  for  Dr.  Teazle  —  our  village  doctor  here  — 
the  old  'oman  said  her  head  would  bust  —  doctor  said  it 
wouldn't  —  the  old  'oman  said  it  would  —  the  doctor  said 
he'd  tie  it  up  —  and  he  did  try  to  tie  it  up,  stranger  — 
and  while  he  was  busy,  her  head  did  bust,  and  blew  off 
the  doctor's  thumb  and  fore-finger  "  —  and  Ike  shoved  a 
man  into  the  king-row  and  crowned  him,  without  a  look 
at  Mr.  Farindale,  his  face  all  the  while  as  rigid  as  a 
tombstone. 

Mr.  Farindale  gave  a  long  whistle,  and  immediately 
called  for  a  cigar ;  the  Colonel  dropped  a  quid  of  tobacco 
into  his  hand,  and  gave  it  a  toss  across  the  bar-room  ; 
Longbow  shot  forth  a  dignified  spit  into  the  fire,  or  rather 
it  seemed  to  shoot  out  itself,  without  moving  a  muscle, 
and  Bates  stroked  his  chin  several  times  with  his  left 
hand. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  "  What  became  of  the  woman  ?  " 
inquired  Farindale,  after  five  minutes,  looking  sharply  at 
Ike. 

"  She  hain't  been  heer'd  on  since,  as  I  knows  on," 
replied  Ike  ;  "  but  the  doctor's  in  a  dref-ul  state." 

The  game  of  checkers  closed,  and  Ike  and  Bates 
moved  around  near  Mr.  Farindale. 

"  Stranger,"  said  Ike,  "travelled  long  in  these  ere 
parts  ?  " 

"  Not  long  —  but  long  enough." 

"Go-in1  on?" 

"On  where?" 

"  Why,  on  to  the  next  place  ?  " 

"  Does  Whistle  &  Sharp  live  hereabouts  ?  "  inquired 
Farindale,  without  answering  Ike's  question. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  \\\ 

11  To  be  sure  they  do,"  said  Ike  ;  "I  know  'em  like  a 
book  •,  am  their  'torney." 

"Their  attorney  —  you  their  attorney  —  attorney  of 
Whistle  &  Sharp,"  said  the  stranger,  slowly  and  musing- 
ly, scratching  his  head  with  his  fore-finger. 

"  Got  anything  for  'em  or  agin  'em?  "  inquired  Ike. 

"  Are  they  good  pay  ?  "  inquired  the  stranger. 

"  Always  pays  at  the  end  of  an  execution/'  replied  Ike 

—  "never  before  —  allers  takes  a  receipt  on  the  docket 

—  makes    their    settlements   a  matter    of  record  —  puts 
things  where  they  can't  be  ripp'd  up  —  best  way,  ain't 
it,  stranger  ?  " 

The  stranger  grunted,  "  Humph  !  " 

"  And  then,"  said  Ike,  "there's  no  dispute  'bout 
authority  to  collect.  Everybody  can't  tell  who  every- 
body's agent  is.  One  New  York  dark  run'd  away  one 
year  with  all  the  collections  from  Puddleford  in  his 
breeches-pocket;  but  the  court  has  authority — gin'ral 
jurisdiction — and  the  discharge  of  a  court  is  a  dis- 
charge what  is  a  discharge." 

"  That's  a  real  opinion,"  exclaimed  Longbow,  who  had 
not  spoken  for  half  an  hour  ;  "  there's  nothin/  like  a 
court  to  put  a  finish  outer  things  ;  "  and  the  Squire  gave 
two  or  three  heavy  coughs,  and  blew  his  nose  into  his 
red  cotton  handkerchief,  and  doubling  it  up  into  a  wad, 
looked  around  very  gravely  at  Farindale  as  he  dropped 
it  back  into  his  hat. 

"  Authority  !  The  authority  of  courts  to  collect  debts  ! 
They  may  have  authority,  but  I  never  saw  a  court  that 
had  the  power  to  collect  a  debt  of  me,"  exclaimed  the 
Colonel,  shifting  his  tobacco  from  one  side  of  his  rnouth 
to  the  other  as  he  spoke  ;  "  and  I  never  put  in  a  plea  in 


172  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

my  life  —  the  plea  always  puts  itself  in,  and  is  a  dead 
bar  to  further  proceedings  every  time  —  '  no  assets  '  — 
'  nothing  whereon  to  levy  '  "  — 

"  Nully  Bony!  Nully  Bony!  you  mean/'  said  the 
Squire,  horror-stricken  at  the  Colonel's  use  of  law  lan- 
guage. 

"That's  it/'  said  Bates;  "hain't  got  nothin' to  get 
onter  "  — 

"  And  ain't  nowhere  to  be  found,  nor  nothin'/'  added 
Turtle. 

•"  Just  so,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  a  kind  of  general  sus- 
pensi  ,n  for  want  of  capital  —  the  fiddle's  on  hand,  but 
the  bow  is  gone." 

The  stranger  was  puzzled  at  the  Puddlefordian  view 
of  paying  debts,  and  wondered  if  Whistle  &  Sharp  were 
advocates  of  the  same  doctrine. 

"  Stranger  !  "  said  Bates,  turning  the  subject  of  con- 
versation, "  do  you  ever  hunt  ?  " 

"  Never,"  answered  Farindale. 

"  Kare  sport  to-night,  going  a-sniping,"  said  Bates. 

"  >Sm-ping  ?  "  inquired  the  stranger,  emphasizing  tho 
first  syllable  ;  "  sm-ping  !  what  is  sm-ping  ?  " 

"  Sni-piug  ?  "  answered  Bates  —  "  why,  catching  snipe, 
to  be  sure." 

"  Great  sport,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  bagged  three  hua- 
dred  night  before  last." 

11  The  real  yaller  legs,  too  !  "  remarked  Turtle. 

Farindale  said  "he  would  like  to  accompany  them  — 
never  saw  a  snipe  in  his  life  —  would  like  to  take  cue 
back  to  the  city.  Do  they  sing?"  he  inquired,  turning 
to  Turtle. 

"  Great  singers  !  catch  any  tune  !  s'prising  critters  to 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  173 

larn,"  answered  Ike  ;  "  got  one  up  to  my  house  that 
goes  thro'  half  of  '  Old  Hundred/  by  jest  hearing  the 
folks  hum  it  round  the  house/7 

"  Tite-markable  !  "  exclaimed  Farindale. 

"  Great  eating,  too/'  said  Longbow. 

"  Hain't  got  mor'n  two  or  three  bones  in  their  whole 
body;  all  the  rest  meat/'  said  Bates. 

Preparations  were  immediately  made  for  the  sniping 
expedition.  The  stranger  put  on  his  India-rubber  boots, 
and  shawls,  and  overcoat ;  Ike  procured  a  large  bag  of 
Bulliphant ;  and  all  hands,  excepting  Squire  Longbow, 
whose  dignity  forbade  anything  like  sport,  wended  their 
way  to  the  river,  where,  Turtle  said,  "there  were  whole 
droves  on  'em." 

"  Now,"  whispered  Turtle,  drawing  Farindale  close  to 
him,  and  holding  his  arm  all  the  while  as  he  spoke  in  his 
ear,  "  we  must  keep  very  still  —  snipe  are  scary  critters, 
and  when  they  get  frightened  they  put  straight  for  the 
river.  There  is  a  big  log  out  yonder  —  a  favorite  spot 
of  theirs  —  down  which  they  travel  and  jump  off  into 
the  river.  You  jest  take  this  ere  bag,  creep  softly  down 
to  the  log,  slip  the  bag  over  the  end  on't,  and  wait  there 
until  we  drive  in  the  snipe.  Don't  speak  —  don't  move  ; 
make  'em  think  you  are  the  trunk  of  a  tree  ;  and  when 
the  bag  is  full,  slip  it  off,  and  close  it  in  a  jiffy." 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  "  whispered  back  Farindale. 

"  Mind,  don't  stir  from  your  post  till  I  halloo." 

"  No  !  no  !  "  said  Farindale. 

Farindale  did  as  he  was  directed.  lie  found,  however, 
a  foot  of  black  muck  ;  but,  after  "  slumping  "  a  while, 
he  managed  to  plant  his  spread  legs  out  like  a  pair  of 
extended  compasses,  and  slide  the  bag  over  the  log. 


174  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Here  he  stood,  half  bent  together,  grasping  the  bag,  and 
waiting  for  snipe. 

There  was  a  beating  of  the  bushes  around  him  ;  then 
all  was  still ;  then  another  beating,  and  another,  and  then 
a  longer  silence.  Farinclale  was  sinking  deeper  and 
deeper  in  the  mud,  and  the  water  was  nearly  to  the  top 
of  his  boots.  By  and  by,  the  noises  ceased  —  no  foot- 
step could  be  heard,  and  the  stranger  was  alone  with 
the  bag  and  the  log,  and  half  up  to  his  middle  —  waiting 
for  snipe. 

What  ever  became  of  the  Puddlefordians  is  more  than 
I  can  say.  Farindale  returned  to  the  Eagle  alone. 
Early  the  next  morning  he  might  have  been  found  in 
anxious  consultation  with  Whistle  &  Sharp  concerning 
a  claim  there  of  a  hundred  and  twelve  dollars,  arid  in- 
terest after  six  months,  which  he  was  very  desirous  to 
secure  or  settle.  Mr.  Whistle,  the  senior  member  of  the 
firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  was  a  very  thin-faced  man, 
with  sandy  hair  that  had  seldom  been  combed,  and  he 
wore  a  faded  blue  coat  with  metal  buttons,  the  two 
behind  having  been  placed  just  under  his  armpits,  which 
made  him  look  as  though  some  invisible  power  was  all 
the  while  lifting  him  up  from  the  ground.  His  woollen 
pantaloons  had  passed  so  many  times  through  the  wash- 
tub,  that  he  was  obliged  to  strain  out  the  wrinkles  when 
he  put  them  on,  and  they  clung  as  tight  to  his  legs  as 
his  skin.  Sharp  was  a  little  man,  had  a  long  face,  and 
his  mouth  seemed  to  have  been  bored  —  for  it  was  round 
—  about  midway  between  his  chin  and  his  forehead; 
and  he  was  always  wasping  around,  giving  consequen- 
tial orders  about  nothing,  and  very  often  spoke  of  the 
firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  and  what  Whistle  &  Sharp 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  175 

had  done,  and  what  Whistle  &  Sharp  could  do,  and 
would  do. 

Mr.  Whistle  informed  Mr.  Farindale  that  "  the  debt 
could  riot  be  paid  at  present,  although,"  he  added,  "that 
the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp  were  good  for  ten  times 
that  amount." 

"  And  another  ten  top  of  that,"  added  Sharp,  from 
the  other  end  of  the  store,  where  he  was  tumbling  down 
and  putting  up  goods  by  way  of  exercise. 

"  Can  you  secure  them  ?  "  inquired  Farindale. 

"  Well,  now,  you  have  said  it !  "  exclaimed  Whistle, 
with  apparent  astonishment.  "  What  can  be  safer  than 
the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp?  —  secure!  —  never  had 
such  a  thing  hinted  before  during  the  ten  years  of  our 
business." 

"  A  mortgage,"  insinuated  Farindale. 

"  Can't  do  that  —  not  no  how  ;  my  old  grandfather  was 
swept  out  clean  with  a  mortgage  once  ;  took  all  he  had, 
and  he  was  compelled  to  emigrate  ;  died  of  broken  heart 
at  last." 

"  Then,"  said  Farindale,  "  I  must  sue." 

"  What !  sue  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp  !  Very  well, 
sir,  do,  if  you  please." 

"  Yes-sir-ee  —  horse-cob  !  Mr.  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Far- 
indale," exclaimed  Sharp,  springing  at  one  bound  over 
the  counter  ;  "just  sue  us  if — you  —  please  ;  we'll  pay 
the  costs  !  "  and  Sharp  whistled  a  tune  with  his  eyes 
fixed  steadily  upon  Farindale. 

"  Court  sits  next  month,"  said  Whistle. 

"  And  we'll  confess  judgment,"  said  Sharp. 

"  And  the  pay  is  sure,"  said  Whistle. 

"  And  no  trouble  herearter,"  said  Sharp. 


176  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Mr.  Farindale  began  to  think  another  sniping  expedi- 
tion was  afoot.  He  was  not  a  coward,  if  his  cockneyisrn 
had  lured  him  after  snipe  ;  but  he  was  unable  to  deter- 
mine what  kind  of  people  the  Puddlefordians  were.  He 
had  never  met  anything  like  them.  So  he  sat  in  his 
chair,  the  account  against  Whistle  &  Sharp  in  his  hand, 
tapping  the  floor  with  his  right  foot,  trying  to  devise 
some  way  to  secure  his  claim. 

A  thought  struck  him.  "  Pay  it,  and  I  will  make  a 
discount  of  twenty-five  per  cent./'  said  he. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  "  indignantly  exclaimed  Sharp. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  injure  our  firm  ?  —  the  firm  of  Whistle 
&  Sharp,  who  pay  dollar  for  dollar !  That  ere,  sir,  is  an 
insult.  There's  the  door —  walk  !  Sue  !  but  you  can't 
insult  us  on  our  own  premises.  That's  the  way  to  talk 
it,  sir  1  "  And  Mr.  Farindale  did  go,  and  he  did  sue,  and 
the  firm  recovered  a  judgment  against  Whistle  &  Sharp 
for  the  sum  of  three  hundred  and  twenty-four  dollars  and 
sixteen  cents,  and  costs  of  suit. 

It  was  no  great  matter  to  recover  a  judgment  against 
a  Puddlefordian  ;  but  it  was  something  of  a  business  to 
realize  the  damages.  And  that  the  reader  may  under- 
stand what  kind  of  a  prospect  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farin- 
dale had  for  their  money,  it  is  necessary  to  speak  of  the 
laws  then  in  force  for  the  collection  of  debts.  The  new 
states  at  that  time  were  entirely  "shingled  over"  with 
relief  laws,  which  were  passed  to  save  the  property  of 
the  pioneer  from  sacrifice.  There  was  scarcely  any 
money  in  Puddleford,  and  exchanges  were  made  by 
barter.  Personal  property  was  valued  by  its  relation  to 
other  property  ;  eight  yards  of  calico  were  worth  so 
much  wheat,  corn,  potash,  cord-wood,  or  saw-logs.  The 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  177 

merchant  managed  to  turn  his  grain  into  high  wines,  or 
put  it  in  some  other  shape  that  would  bear  transportation, 
and  he  was  thus  enabled  to  pay  his  debts.  The  farmer 
gave  the  mechanic  an  order  on  the  merchant ;  the  profes- 
sional man  took  an  order  on  the  merchant ;  the  day- 
laborer  took  an  order  on  the  merchant ;  everybody 
took  an  order  on  the  merchant.  The  merchant  was 
general  paymaster  ;  what  he  could  not,  or  would  not 
pay,  remained  unpaid  ;  and  he,  in  his  turn,  swept  the 
farmer's  crops,  and  took  everj^thing  available  ;  and  the 
balance  yet  his  due,  and  remaining  unpaid,  if  any, 
was  carried  over  against  the  farmer,  and  against  the 
next  crop.  Thus  the  whole  business  of  Puddleford  ran 
through  the  merchant  like  wheat  through  a  mill,  and 
generally  at  a  profit  to  the  latter  of  from  seventy-five  to 
a  hundred  per  cent. 

It  was  this  condition  of  the  country  that  drove  the 
legislature  into  the  enactment  of  relief-laws.  As  there 
was  no  money  to  pay  debts,  it  was  enacted  that  property 
should  be  a  legal  tender.  The  law  in  force,  at  the  date 
of  the  judgment  against  Whistle  &  Sharp,  was  a  beau- 
tiful specimen  of  legislative  impudence  and  ingenuity. 
It  was  a  relief  law !  One  section  of  the  act  provided,  in 
substance,  that  upon  the  presentation  of  an  execution, 
issued  by  any  court  in  the  state,  by  the  officer  to  whom 
the  same  shall  be  directed,  to  the  debtor  or  debtors  men- 
tioned therein,  such  debtor  or  debtors  may  turn  out  any 
property,  personal  or  real,  to  said  officer  who  shall  levy 
on  the  same  ;  and  the  said  officer  shall  cause  the  same 
to  be  appraised  by  three  appraisers,  one  to  be  chosen  by 
the  plaintiff,  one  by  the  defendant,  and  one  by  the  officer, 
who  shall  forthwith  be  sworn,  etc.,  and  proceed  to  ap- 
12 


178  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

praise  said  property  turned  out  at  it*  true  cash  value  ; 
and  the  said  plaintiff  in  such  execution  shall  receive 
said  property  at  two  thirds  its  appraised  value  ;  and, 
if  he  refuse,  he  shall  not  proceed  any  farther  with  his 
execution,  or  have  another,  until  he  first  pay  up  all  the 
costs  of  said  appraisement.* 

An  execution  was  issued  by  J.  Snappit,  Esq.,  attorney 
for  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale,  upon  the  judgment,  re- 
corded as  foresaid,  against  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp, 
and  put  into  the  hands  of  the  sheriff  for  collection. 

Now  the  sheriff  of  the  county  which  included  Puddle- 
ford  within  its  limits  was  an  accommodating  man,  a 
humane  man,  a  man  of  the  people,  a — politician.  He 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  oppress  debtors  who  were 
unfortunately  unable  to  pay  their  debts  —  for  the  people 
elected  him.  Follett,  Fizzlet  &  Farindale  never  voted 
for  him  —  never  could  vote  for  him  ;  Whistle  &  Sharp 
had,  and  would  again.  So  the  sheriff  went  down  to 
Puddleford,  and  very  politely  informed  them,  with  a 
wink,  that  "  he  had  that  execution  against  them,  and  it 
must  be  paid.7' 

"  Jest  so — jest  so,"  answered  Sharp,  reading  over 
the  writ :  <(  Whistle  &  Sharp  always  pa}r  —  always  have 
a  pile  of  assets  ready  for  a  levy  ;  "  and  returning  the 
execution  to  the  sheriff,  begged  a  moment's  delay,  until 
"  we  could,  consult  with  our  attorney/7 

Mr.  Turtle  was  consulted,  and  the  conclusion  of  Sharp's 
interview  with  him  amounted  to  this  :  that  Turtle  should 
go  immediately,  and  purchase  for  Whistle  &  Sharp  the 

*  This  is  the  substance  of  a  portion  of  the  act,  as  it  stood  in  force 
some  years. 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  If9 

old  steamboat  cylinder,  crank,  and  shaft ;  and  the  parties 
separated. 

The  steamboat  cylinder,  crank,  and  shaft,  alluded  to, 
was  what  Turtle  called  the  "  Puddleford  bank  —  metallic 
basis. "  Some  years  before,  a  steamboat,  on  an  explor- 
ing expedition  up  the  river,  among1  its  windings  and  sand- 
bars, was  wrecked,  and  a  heavy  cjdinder,  crank,  and 
shaft,  thrown  ashore  at  Puddleford,  where  they  lay  at  the 
period  I  speak  of,  and  had  for  a  long  time,  deeply 
imbedded  in  sand.  This  mass  of  iron,  weighing  many 
tons,  had  for  a  long  time  been  a  perpetual  bar  to  the 
collection  of  all  debt^  against  Puddlefordians.  Chitty, 
in  his  Pleadings,  never  invented  one  so  omnipotent.  It 
suspended  every  execution  directed  against  it.  It 
was  transferred,  by  bill  of  sale,  from  one  Puddlefordian 
to  another  (as  no  creditor  was  ever  found  willing  to 
receive  it  at  any  price),  as  necessity  required,  and  was 
considered,  by  common  consent,  public  property — a 
"  bank "  as  Turtle  called  it,  "  to  which  any  person 
had  a  right  to  resort  in  distress."  * 

Turtle  took  a  bill  of  sale  of  this  iron  from  the  last 
man  in  trouble,  and  turned  it  out  to  the  sheriff  on  the 
execution  against  Whistle  &  Sharp. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Sheriff/7  said  Turtle,  triumphantly,  "bring 
on  your  apprize rs  ;  a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  property 
to  pay  a  little  over  three  hundred.  My  clients,  Whistle 
&  Sharp,  are  bunkum  yet  —  allers  stand  up  to  the  rack 
at  the  end  of  an  execution.  Bring  on  your  apprizers, 
Mr.  Sheriff." 

Mr.  Turtle  chose  an  appraiser  first  —  a  second  cousin 

*  This  is  a  literal  fact. 


180  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

of  Mr.  Whistle,  of  the  firm  of  Whistle  &  Sharp,  ard  a 
man  who  was  deeply  in  debt  on  their  books —  a  bilious, 
weazen-faced,  melancholy-looking  man,  who  had  acquired 
a  great  reputation  for  wisdom  by  saying  nothing  — 
whose  name  was  Clinket.  No  one  appearing  to  choose 
for  the  plaintiffs,  the  sheriff  selected  the  other  two. 
He  named  Mr.  Troper,  a  seedy  old  fellow,  whose  crown 
was  half  out  of  his  hat,  whose  beard  was  white,  his 
nose  red,  and  who  had  a  whiskey-cough,  arid  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  barrel-tap  of  Whistle  & 
Sharp  three  or  four  times  a  day,  in  consideration  of 
odd  jobs  performed  by  him  around  the  store  ;  also, 
Mr.  Fatler,  a  chubby-faced,  twinkle-eyed  wag,  who 
would  not  hesitate  to  perpetrate  a  good  joke,  even  under 
oath,  particularly  upon  non-residents 

The  Puddlefordians  were  out  in  mass  to  see  Follett  & 
Co.  try  a  run  on  their  "  bank."  Many  remarks  were 
made. 

Bulliphant  said  "  the  cylinder  alone  cost  five  hundred 
dollars." 

Swipes  said  "it  was  a  bully  piece  of  stuff." 

"  How  much  is  the  debt  ?  "  inquired  Bates. 

"  Two  thirds  of  twelve  hundred,"  exclaimed  Turtle, 
loudly,  "  is  eight  hundred." 

"  Worth  the  debt  for  old  iron,"  said  the  Colonel. 

These  remarks,  designed  for  the  appraisers,  had  their 
effect ;  they  examined  ;  they  figured  ;  retired  for  con- 
sultation ;  returned  ;  retired  again  ;  and  finally  appraised 
the  property  turned  out  at  sixteen  hundred  dollars  ; 
paying,  at  two  thirds  its  value,  the  debt  of  Whistle  & 
Sharp,  and  leaving  a  very  handsome  surplus  due  them 
from  their  creditors.  But  I  am  very  happy  to  be  en- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  181 

abled  to  say  that  Whistle  &  Sharp  most  magnanimously 
offered  to  release  all  their  claim  on  the  levy  to  Follett  & 
Co.,  if  they  would  take  the  property,  and  discharge 
the  judgment  arid  costs,  "  making/7  as  they  said  in 
their  letter  to  them,  "  a  clear  profit  on  their  part  of  from 
four  to  five  hundred  dollars/' 


182  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  "Fev-Nag."—  Conflicting-  Theories.  —  "  Oxergin  and  Hyder- 
gin."  —  Teazle's  Rationale.  —  The  Scourge  of  the  West.  —  Sile 
Bates,  and  his  Condition.  —  Squire  Longbow  and  Jim  Buzzard.  — 
Puddleford  Prostrate.  —  Various  Practitioners.  —  uThe  Billerous 
Duck."  —  Pioneer  Martyrs.  —  Wave  over  Wave. 

CURING  my  first  fall's  residence  at  Puddleford,  I 
frequently  heard  a  character  spoken  of,  who  seemed 
to  be  full  as  famous  in  the  annals  of  the  place  as  Squire 
Longbow  himself.  He  was  called  by  a  great  variety  of 
names,  and  very  seldom  alluded  to  with  respect.  He 
was  termed  the  "  Fev-Nag,"  the  "  Ag-an-Fev,"  the 
11  Shakin'  Ager,"  the  "  Shakes,"  and  a  great  variety  of 
other  hard  names  were  visited  upon  him. 

That  he  was  the  greatest  scourge  Puddleford  had  to 
contend  with,  no  one  denied.  Who  he  really  was,  what 
he  was,  where  born,  and  for  what  purpose,  was  a  ques- 
tion. Dobbs  had  one  theory,  Short  another,  and  Teazle 
still  another.  Dr.  Dobbs  said  "that  his  appearance  must 
be  accounted  for  in  this  wise  —  that  the  marshes  were  all 
covered  with  water  in  the  spring,  that  the  sun  began  to 
grow  so  all-fir'd  hot  'long  'bout  July  and  August,  that  it 
cream 'd  over  the  water  with  a  green  scum,  and  rotted 
the  grass,  and  this  all  got  stewed  inter  a  morning  fog, 
that  rose  up  and  elated  itself  among  the  Ox-er-gin  and 
Hy-der-gin,  and  pizened  everybody  it  touched." 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  ]83 

Dr.  Dobbs  delivered  this  opinion  at  the  public  house, 
in  a  very  oracular  style.  I  noticed  several  Puddlefor- 
dians  in  his  presence  at  the  time,  and  before  he  closed, 
their  jaws  dropped,  and  their  gaping1  mouths  and  ex- 
panded eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with  wonder. 

Dr.  Teazle  declared  that  "Dobbs  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  it.  He  said  the  ager  was  buried  up  in  the 
airth,  and  that  when  the  sile  was  turned  up,  it  got  loose, 
and  folks  breath'd  it  into  their  lungs,  and  from  the  lungs 
it  went  into  the  liver,  and  from  the  liver  it  went  to  the 
kidneys,  and  the  secretions  got  fuzzled  up,  and  the  bile 
turn'd  black,  and  the  blood  didn't  run,  and  it  set  every- 
body's inards  all  a-tremblinV 

Without  attempting  the  origin  of  the  ague  and  fever, 
it  was,  arid  always  has  been,  the  scourge  of  the  West. 
It  is  the  foe  that  the  West  has  ever  had  to  contend  with. 
It  delays  improvement,  saps  constitutions,  shatters  the 
whole  man,  and  lays  the  foundation  for  innumerable 
diseases  that  follow  and  finish  the  work  for  the  grave. 
It  is  not  only  ague  and  fever  that  so  seriously  prostrates 
the  pioneer,  but  the  whole  family  of  intermittent  and  re- 
mittent fevers,  all  results  of  the  same  cause,  press  in 
to  destroy.  Perhaps  no  one  evil  is  so  much  dreaded. 
Labor,  privation,  poverty,  are  nothing  in  comparison.  It 
is,  of  course,  fought  in  a  great  variety  of  ways,  and  the 
remedies  are  as  numerous  as  they  are  ridiculous.  A 
physician  who  is  really  skilful  in  the  treatment  of  these 
diseases  is,  of  course,  on  the  road  to  wealth,  but  skilful 
physicians  were  not  frequent  in  Puddleford,  as  the  reader 
has  probably  discovered. 

I  recollect  that,  during  the  months  of  September  and 
October,  subsequently  to  my  arrival,  all  Pudeleford  was 


184  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

"  down/'  to  use  the  expression  of  the  country  ;  and  if 
the  reader  will  bear  with  me,  and  pledge  himself  not  to 
accuse  me  of  trifling  with  so  serious  a  subject,  I  will  en- 
deavor to  describe  Puddleford  "in  distress." 

I  will  premise  by  saying  that  it  is  expected  that  per- 
sons who  are  on  their  feet  during  these  visitations,  give 
up  their  time  and  means  to  those  who  are  not.  There  is 
a  nobleness  of  soul  in  a  western  community  in  this  re- 
spect that  does  honor  to  human  nature.  A  village  is 
one  great  family  —  every  member  must  be  provided  for 
—  old  grudges  are,  for  the  time,  buried. 

I  have  now  a  very  vivid  remembrance  of  seeing  Sile 
Bates,  one  bright  October  morning,  walking  through  the 
main  street  of  Puddleford,  at  the  pace  of  a  funeral  pro- 
cession, his  old  winter  overcoat  on,  and  a  faded  shawl 
tied  about  his  cheeks.  Sile  informed  me  "  that  he  be- 
lieved the  ager  was  comin'  on-ter  him  —  that  he  had  a 
spell  on't  the  day  before,  and  the  day  before  that  —  that 
he  had  been  a-stewin*  up  things  to  break  the  fits,  and 
clean  out  his  constitution,  but  it  stuck  to  him  like  death 
on-ter  a  nigger " —  he  said  "his  woman  and  two  boys 
were  shakin'  like  all  possess't,  and  he  railly  believed  if 
somebody  didn't  stop  it,  the  log-cabin  would  tumble 
down  round  their  ears."  He  said  "  there  warn't  nobody 
to  do  nuthin'  'bout  house,  and  that  all  the  neighbors 
were  worse  off  than  he  was." 

Sile  was  a  melancholy  object  indeed.  And  in  all  con- 
science, reader,  did  you  ever  behold  so  solemn,  woe-begone 
a  thing  on  the  round  earth,  as  a  man  undergoing  the  full 
merits  of  ague  and  fever  ?  Sile  sat  down  on  a  barrel 
and  commenced  gaping  and  stretching,  and  now  and  then 
dropped  a  remark  expressive  of  his  condition.  He  finally 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  185 

began  to  chatter,  and  the  more  he  chattered,  the  more 
ferocious  he  waxed.  He  swore  "  that  if  he  ever  got 
well,  he'd  burn  his  house,  sell  his  traps,  Abandon  his  land, 
pile  his  family  into  his  cart,  hitch  on  his  oxen,  and  drive 
;em,  and  drive  'em  to  the  north  pole,  where  there  warn't 
no  ager,  he  knew.  One  minit,"  he  said,  "  he  was 
a-freezin',  and  then  he  was  a-burnin',  and  then  he  was 
a-sweatin'  to  death,  and  then  he  had  a  well  day,  and  that 
didn't  'mount  to  nothin',  for  the  critter  was  only  gettin' 
strength  to  jump  on  him  agin  the  next."  Site  at  last  ex- 
hausted himself,  and  getting  upon  his  feet,  went  off  mut- 
tering and  shaking  towards  his  house. 

The  next  man  I  met  was  Squire  Longbow.  The  Squire 
was  moving  slower,  if  possible,  than  Bates.  His  face 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  just  turned  out  of  yellow  oak, 
and  his  eyes  were  as  yellow  as  his  face.  As  the  Squire 
never  surrendered  to  anything,  I  found  him  not  disposed 
to  surrender  to  ague  and  fever.  He  said  "he'd  only 
had  a  little  brush,  but  he'd  knock  it  out  on-him  in  a  day 
or  two.  He  was  jist  goin'  out  to  scrape  some  elder  bark 
up,  to  act  as  an  emetic,  as  Aunt  Sonora  said  if  he 
scraped  it  down,  it  would  have  t'other  effect  —  and  that 
would  kill  it  as  dead  as  a  door-nail." 

I  soon  overhauled  Jim  Buzzard,  lying  half  asleep  in 
the  bottom  of  his  canoe,  brushing  off  flies  with  an  oak 
branch.  Jim,  too,  was  a  case,  but  it  required  something 
more  than  sickness  to  disturb  his  equilibrium.  Jim  said 
"  he  warn't  sick,  but  he  felt  the  awfulest  tired  any  dog 
ever  did  —  he  was  the  all-thunderest  cold,  t'other  day,  he 
ever  was  in  hot  weather  —  somethin'  Another  came  on  tor 
him  all  of  a  suddint,  and  set  his  knees  all  goin',  and  his 
jaws  a  quiv'rin',  and  so  he  li'd  down  inter  the  sun,  but 


186  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

the  more  he  If  d,  the  more  he  kept  on  a  shaking  and  then 
that  are  all  went  off  agin,  and  he'd  be  darned  to  gracious 
if  he  didn't  think  he'd  burn  up  —  and  so  he  just  jumped 
inter  the  river,  and  cool'd  off  —  and,  now  he  feel'd  jist 
so  agin  —  and  so  he'd  got  where  the  sun  could  strike 
him  a  little  harder  this  time.  What  shall  a  feller  do  ?  " 
at  last  inquired  Jim 

"Take  medicine/'  said  I. 

"  Not  by  a  jug-full/'  said  Jim.  "Them  are  doctors 
don't  get  any  of  their  stuff  down  my  throat.  If  T  can't 
stand  it  as  long  as  the  ager,  then  I'll  give  in.  Let-er- 
shake  if  it  warnts  to  —  it  works  harder  than  I  do,  and 
will  get  tir'd  byme-by.  Have  you  a  little  plug  by-yer  jest 
now,  as  I  haven't  had  a  chew  sin'  morning,  as  it  may 
help  a  feller  some  ?  "  Jim  took  the  tobacco,  rolled  over 
in  his  canoe,  gave  a  grunt,  and  composed  himself  for 
sleep 

This  portrait  of  Buzzard  would  not  be  ludicrous,  if  it 
was  not  true.  Whether  Socrates  or  Plato,  or  any  other 
heathen  philosopher,  has  ever  attempted  to  define  this 
kind  of  happiness,  is  more  than  I  can  say.  In  fact, 
reader,  I  do  not  believe  that  there  was  one  real  Jim  Buz- 
zard in  the  whole  Grecian  republic. 

But  why  speak  of  individual  cases  ?  Nearly  all  Pud- 
dleford  was  prostrate  —  man,  woman,  and  child.  There 
were  a  few  exceptions,  and  the  aid  of  those  few  was 
nothing  compared  to  the  great  demand  of  the  sick.  It 
was  providential  that  the  nature  of  the  disease  admitted 
of  one  well  day,  because  there  was  an  opportunity  to 
"  exchange  works,"  and  the  sick  of  to-day  could  assist 
the  sick  of  to-morrow,  and  so  vice  versa. 

I  looked  through  the  sick  families,  and  found  the  pa- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  187 

tients  in  all  conditions.  One  lady  had  "just  broke  the 
ager  on-ter  her  by  sax-fax  tea,  mix'd  with  Coluriibo." 
Another  "  had  been  a-tryin'  eli-cum-paine  and  popular 
bark,  but  it  didn't  lie  good  on  her  stomach,  and  made 
her  enymost  crazy. "  Another  woman  was  "  so  as  to 
be  crawlin'  "  —  another  was  "  getting  quite  peert "  — 
another  "couldn't  keep  anything  down,  she  felt  so 
qualmly  "  —  another  said,  "the  disease  was  runnin'  her 
right  inter  the  black  janders,  and  then  she  was  gone  "  — 
another  had  "  run  clear  of  yesterday's  chill,  and  was 
now  goin'  to  weather  it ;  "  and  so  on,  through  scores  of 
cases. 

It  is  worthy  of  note,  the  popular  opinion  of  the  charac- 
ter of  this  disease.  Although  Puddleford  had  been 
afflicted  with  it  for  years,  yet  it  was  no  better  understood 
by  the  mass  of  community  than  it  was  at  first.  I  have 
already  given  the  opinion  of  Dobbs  and  Teazle  of  the 
causes  of  the  ague  ;  but  as  Dobbs  and  Teazle  held  en- 
tirely different  theories,  Ruddleford  was  not  much  en- 
lightened by  their  wisdom.  (If  some  friend  will  inform 
me  when  and  where  any  community  was  ever  enlightened 
by  the  united  opinion  of  its  physicians,  I  will  publish 
it  in  my  next  work.)  Aunt  Sonora  had  a  theory  which 
was  a  little  old,  but  it  was  hers,  and  she  had  a  right 
to  it.  She  said  "  nobody  on  airth  could  live  with  a 
stomach  full  of  bile,  and  when  the  shakin'  ager  come 
en,  you'd  jest  got-ter  go  to  work  and  get  off  all  the 
bile  —  bile  was  the  ager,  and  physicians  might  talk  to 
her  till  she  was  gray  'bout  well  folks  having  bile  —  she 
know'd  better — twarn't  no  such  thing." 

Now  Aunt  Sonora  practised  upon  this  theory,  and  the 
excellent  old  lady  administered  a  cart-load  of  bone-set 


188  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

every  season  —  blows  to  elevate  the  bile,  and  the  leaf  as 
a  torric.  However  erroneous  her  theory  might  have  been, 
I  am  bound  to  say  that  her  practice  was  about  as  suc- 
cessful as  that  of  the  regular  physician. 

Mr.  Beagle  declared  "  that  the  ager  was  in  the  blood, 
and  the  patient  must  first  get  rid  of  all  his  bad  blood,  and 
then  the  ager  would  go  along  with  it."  Swipes  said  "  it 
was  all  in  the  stomach."  Dobbs  said  "  the  billerous  duck 
chok'd  up  with  the  mash  fogs,  and  the  secretions  went 
every  which  way,  and  the  liver  got  as  hard  as  sole- 
leather,  and  the  patient  becom'  sick,  and  the  ager  set  in, 
and  then  the  fever,  and  the  hull  system  got-er  goin' 
wrong,  and  if  it  warn't  stopped,  natur'd  give  out,  and 
the  man  would  die."  Teazle  said  "it  com'd  from  the 
ploughed  earth,  and  got  inter  the  air,  and  jist  so  long  as 
folks  brcath'd  agery  air,  jist  so  long  they'd  have  the 
ager."  Turtle  said  "  the  whole  tribe  on  ;em,  men-doc- 
tors and  women-doctors,  were  blockheads,  and  the  surest 
way  to  get  rid  of  the  ager,  w.as  to  let  it  run,  and  when  it 
had  run  itself  out,  it  would  stop,  and  not  'afore." 

Here,  then,  was  Puddleford  at  the  mercy  of  a  dozen 
theories,  and  yet  men  and  women  recovered,  when  the 
season  had  run  its  course,  and  were  tolerably  sure  of 
health,  until  another  year  brought  around  another  instal- 
ment of  miasma. 

How  many  crops  of  men  have  been  swept  off  by  the 
malaria  of  every  new  western  country,  I  will  not  attempt 
to  calculate !  How  many,  few  persons  have  ever  at- 
tempted !  This  item  very  seldom  goes  into  the  cost  of 
colonization.  Pioneers  are  martyrs  in  a  sublime  sense, 
and  it  is  over  their  bones  that  school-houses,  churches, 
colleges,  learning,  and  refinement  are  finally  planted. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  189 

But  the  death  of  a  pioneer  is  a  matter  of  no  moment  in 
oar  country  —  it  is  almost  as  trifling  a  thing  as  the 
death  of  a  soldier  in  an  Indian  fight.  There  is  no  glory 
to  be  won  on  any  such  field.  One  generation  rides  over 
another,  like  waves  over  waves,  and  "  no  such  miserable 
interrogatory,"  as  Where  has  it  gone?  or  How  did  it 
go  ?  is  put ;  but  What  did  it  do  ?  —  What  has  it  left 
behind  ? 

Any  one  who  has  long  been  a  resident  in  the  West, 
must  have  noticed  the  operation  of  climate  upon  the  con- 
stitution. The  man  from  the  New  England  mountains, 
with  sinews  of  steel,  soon  finds  himself  flagging  amid 
western  miasma,  and  a  kind  of  stupidity  creeps  over  him, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  shake  off.  The  system  grows 
torpid,  the  energies  die,  indifference  takes  possession, 
and  thus  he  vegetates  —  he  does  not  live. 

And,  dear  reader,  it  does  not  lighten  the  gloom  of  the 
picture  to  find  Dobbs,  and  Teazle,  and  Short,  quarrel- 
ling over  the  remains  of  souie  departed  one,  endeavoring 
to  delude  the  public  into  something  themselves  have  no 
conception  of,  about  the  manner  in  which  he  or  she  went 
out  of  the  world.  Not  that  all  the  physicians  are  Dobbses 
or  Teazles,  but  these  sketches  are  written  away  out  on 
the  rim  of  society,  the  rim  of  western  society,  where  the 
townships  are  not  yet  all  organized,  and  a  sacred  regard 
to  truth  compels  me  to  record  facts  as  they  exist. 


190  THE  PUDDLBFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Uncommonly  Common  Schools.  —  Annual  School  District  Meeting. 

—  Accounts  for  Contingent  Expenses.  —  Turtle  and  Old  Gulick'a 
Boy.  —  "  That  are  Glass."  —  The  Colonel  starts  the  Wheels  again. 

—  Bulliphant's  Tactics. — Have  we  hired  "Deacon  Fluett's  Dar- 
ter," or  not  ?  —  Isabel  Strickett.  —  Bunker  Hill  and  Turkey.  — 
Sah-Jane  Beagles.  —  The  Question  settled. 

COMMON  schools  are  said  to  be  the  engine  of  popular 
liberty.  I  think  we  had  some  of  the  most  un-com- 
monly  common  schools,  at  Puddleford,  that  could  be 
found  anywhere  under  the  wings  of  the  American  eagle. 
Our  system  was,  of  course,  the  same  as  that  of  all  other 
townships  in  the  state,  but  its  administration  was  not  in 
all  respects  what  it  should  be.  Our  schools  were  man- 
aged by  Puddlefordians,  and  they  were  responsible  only 
for  the  talent  which  had  been  given  them.  Every  citizen 
knows  that  our  government  is  a  piece  of  mechanism, 
made  up  of  wheels  within  wheels,  and  while  these  wheels 
are  in  one  sense  totally  independent,  and  stand  still  or 
turn  as  they  are  moved  or  let  alone,  yet  they  may  indi- 
rectly affect  the  whole.  In  other  words,  our  government 
is  like  a  cluster  of  Chinese  balls,  curiously  wrought  within, 
and  detached  from  each  other,  and  yet  it  is,  after  all,  but 
one  ball.  There  is  something  beautiful  in  the  construc- 
tion and  operation  of  this  piece  of  machinery.  A  school 
district  is  one  machine,  a  township  another,  a  county 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  \§\ 

ar  other,  and  a  state  another  —  all  independent  organiza- 
tions, yet  every  community  must  work  its  own  organiza- 
tion. They  are  not  operated  afar  off  by  some  great  cen- 
tral power,  over  the  heads  of  the  people  ;  but  they  aro 
worked  by  the  people  themselves,  for  themselves. 

However  clumsily  the  work  may  be  performed  at  first, 
practice  makes  perfect,  and  men  become  the  masters,  as 
well  as  the  administrators  of  their  own  laws. 

We  had  an  annual  school  district  meeting  in  the  vil. 
lage  of  Puddleford  —  and  there  were  many  others  in  the 
country  at  the  same  time  —  for  the  township  was  cut  up 
into  several  districts,  and  I  never  attended  one  that  did 
not  end  in  a  "row,"  to  use  a  western  classical  expres- 
sion. The  business  of  these  meetings  was  all  prescribed 
by  statute,  and  it  amounted  to  settling  and  allowing  the 
accounts  of  the  board  for  the  last  school  year,  voting 
contingent  fund  for  the  next,  determining  whether  a 
school  should  be  taught  by  a  male  or  a  female  teacher, 
and  for  how  many  months,  and  the  election  of  new  of- 
ficers. 

The  last  meeting  I  attended,  Longbow  was  in  the  chair 
by  virtue  of  .his  office  as  president  of  the  school  district 
board.  Being  organized,  the  clerk  of  the  board  pre- 
sented his  account  for  contingent  expenses,  and  Long- 
bow wished  to  know  "  if  the  meetin'  would  pass  'em." 

Turtle  "  wanted  to  hear  'em  read." 

Longbow  said  "  the  only  account  they  had  was  in 
their  head." 

Turtle  said  "that  warn't  'cordin'  to  the  staterts." 

Longbow  said  "  he'd  risk  that —  his  word  was  as  good 
as  anybody's  writing  or  any  statert." 

Turtle  said   "  he'd  hear  what  they  was,  but  'twarn't 


192  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

right,  and  for  his  part>  he  didn't  b'lieve  the  board  know'd 
what  they'd  been  about  for  the  last  six  months. 7; 

Longbow  raised  his  green  shade  from  his  blind  eye, 
rose  on  his  feet,  looked  down  very  ferociously  upon  Tur- 
tle, stamped  his  foot,  and  informed  Ike  "that  this  was 
an  organized  meetin',  and  he  mustn't  reject  on-ter  the  of- 
ficers of  the  de-stiict  ;  'twas  criminal  1  *' 

The  account  was  then  repeated  by  Longbow,  item  by 
item,  and  among  the  rest  was  two  shillings  for  setting 
glass. 

When  glass  was  mentioned,  Turtle  sprang  to  his  feet 
again.  "Thar,  old  man/7  he  exclaimed,  rapping  his 
knuckles  on  the  desk,  "  thar's  where  I'se  got  you  — 
thar's  a  breach  er  trust,  a  squand'rin'  of  funds,  that  ain't 
a-going  to  go  down  in  this  ere  meetin'.  Old  Gulick's 
boy  broke  that  are  glass  just  out  of  sheer  dev'ltry,  and 
you  s'pose  this  ere  school  tfe-strict  is  a-goin'  to  pay  for't  ? 
What  do  you  s'pose  these  ere  staterts  was  passed  for  ? 
What  do  you  s'pose  you  was  'lected  for  ?  To  pay  for  old 
Gulick's  boy  ?  —  Well,  I  rather  caklate  not,  by  the  light  of 
this  ere  moon  —  not  in  this  ere  age  of  Puddleford." 

Squire  Longbow  took  a  large  chew  of  plug-tobacco, 
which  I  thought  he  nipped  off  very  short,  and  remained 
standing,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Turtle. 

Sile  Bates  rose,  and  said  "  he  wanted  to  know  the  par- 
ticulars 'bout  that  are  glass." 

Longbow  said  "the  board  'spended  money  in  their 
'scretiou,  and  'twarn't  fur  Turtle  or  Bates,  or  anybody 
else,  to  7raign  'em  up  'fore  this  'ere  meetiriV 

Here  was  a  long  pause.  The  "  Colonel ;'  finally  arose, 
put  his  hand  deliberately  into  his  pocket,  drew  out  a 
quarter,  and  flung  it  at  the  Squire,  and  "  hop'd  the  meetin7 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  1^3 

would  go  on,  as  it  was  the  first  public  gathering  that  Lo 
ever  knew  blocked  by  twenty-five  cents/' 

This  settled  the  difficulty,  and  the  report  for  contin- 
gent expenses  was  adopted. 

Bulliphant  then  said  he  had  a  motion.  He  "  moved 
that  we  hire  Deacon  Fluett's  darter  to  keep  our  school." 

The  Squire  said  "  the  ineetm'  couldn't  hire,  but  it  could 
Bay  male  t>r  female  teacher/' 

Bulliphant  "  moved  we  hire  a  female,  and  we  recom- 
mend Deacon  Fluett's  darter.77 

Bates  said  "  he  jest  as  'lieve  have  one  of  Fluett's  two- 
year  olds." 

The  "  Colonel "  said  "  she  couldn't  spell  Baker." 

Swipes  thought  "  she  was  scarcely  fit  to  go  to  school." 

Turtle  said  "  the  meetin'  hadn't  got  nothiri'  to  do  with 
it,  nohow,  and  the  whole  motion  was  agin  law." 

Bulliphant,  who  had  become  a  little  out  of  humor,  then 
"moved  that  we  don't  hire  Deacon  Fluett's  darter." 

Bates  declared  "  the  motion  out  of  order." 

The  Squire  said  "he  guess'd  the  motion  was  proper. 
The  staterts  said  the  mcctin'  shouldn't  hire  anybody,  but 
the  de-strict  board  should  ;  and  this  ere  motion  was  jest 
,'cordin'  to  statert." 

But  the  meeting  voted  down  Bulliphant's  motion,  and 
Bulliphant  then  declared  that  the  vote  was  "  tan-ter- 
mount  to  a  resolve  to  hire  the  won) an." 

Here  was  a  parliamentary  entanglement  that  occupied 
an  hour;  but  the  "Colonel"  settled  it  at  last,  by  re- 
minding the  president  "  that  it  was  two  negatives  that 
made  one  affirmative  —  not  one;"  and  the  Squire  said 
"  so  he  believed  he  had  seen  it  laid  down  inter  the  books." 

But  1  cannot  attempt  to  report  the  proceedings  of  this 
13 


194  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

miscellaneous  body.  The  business  occupied  some  four 
or  live  hours,  and  was  finally  brought  to  a  close.  A  new 
school  board  was  elected,  and  your  humble  servant  was 
one  of  the  number ;  positively  the  first  office  that  was 
ever  visited  upon  him. 

The  great  question  with  two  of  the  members  of  our 
board,  in  hiring  a  teacher,  was  the  price.  Qualification 
was  secondary.  The  first  application  was  made  by  a 
long-armed,  red-necked,  fiery-headed  youth  of  about  nine- 
teen years,  who  had  managed  to  run  himself  up  into  the 
world  about  six  feet  two  inches,  and  who  had  not  worn 
off  his  flesh  by  hard  study,  and  who  carried  about  him 
digestive  organs  as  strong  as  the  bowels  of  a  thrashing- 
machine.  He  "wanted  a  school,  7cause  he  had  nothing 
else  to  do  in  the  winter  months.77 

He  was  accordingly  introduced  to  our  School  Inspec- 
tors ;  the  only  one  of  whom  I  knew  was  Bates.  The 
other  two  were  rather  more  frightened  at  the  presenta- 
tion than  the  applicant  himself. 

Bates  proposed  first  to  try  the  gentleman  in  geogra- 
phy and  history.  "Where's  Bunker  Hill?77  inquired 
Bates,  authoritatively. 

"Wai,  'bout  that,77  said  Strickett  —  our  applicant 
called  his  name  Izabel  Strickett —  "  7bout  that,  why,  it's 
where  the  battle  was  fit,  warn7t  it  ?  77 

"  Jes  so,77  replied  Bates  ;   "  and  where  was  that  ?  77 

"  Down  at  the  eastward.77 

"  Who  did  the  fightin7  there  ?  77 

"  Gin'ral  Washington  fit  all  the  revolution.7' 

"  Where's  Spain  ?  77 

"  Where?  "  repeated  Strickett — "  Spain?  where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  where  ?  " 


JIM    BUZZARD    AND  THE    AGER. 

''Them 'ere   doctors  don't  get  any  of  their  stuff  down  my  throat.      If  I  can't 
stand  it  as  long  as  the  ager,  then  I'll  give  in."  —  Page  186. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  ]9f> 

"  Wai,  now/'  exclaimed  Strickett,  looking  steadily  on 
the  floor,  "  I'll  be  darn'd  if  that  ere  hain't  just  slipped 
my  rnind." 

"Where's  Turkey?" 

"  0,  yes,"  said  Strickett,  "  Turkey  —  the  place  they 
call  Turkey  —  if  you'd  ask'd  me  in  the  street,  I'd  told 
you  right  off,  but  I've  got  so  fruster'd  I  don't  know 
nothiri'  ;  "  and  thinking  a  moment,  he  exclaimed,  "  it's 
where  the  Turks  live.  I  thought  I  know'd." 

"  How  many  States  are  there  in  the  Union  ?  " 

11  'Tween  twenty-five  and  thirty  —  thro  win'  out  Can- 
ady." 

Bates  then  attempted  an  examination  in  reading  and 
spelling.  "  Spell  hos  !  "  said  Bates. 

"H  —  o  —  s." 

"  Thunder!  "  roared  Bates.  Bates  did  know  how  to 
spell  horse.  He  had  seen  notices  of  stray  horses,  and  a 
horse  was  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  Puddleford, 
excepting,  of  course,  Squire  Longbow.  "  H  —  o  —  s! 
that's  a  hos-of-a-way  to  spell  hos  !  "  and  Bates  looked  at 
Strickett  very  severely,  feeling  a  pride  of  his  own  knowl- 
edge. 

Strickett  said  "  he  us'd  the  book  when  he  teach'd 
school  —  he  didn't  teach  out  of  his  head  —  and  he  didn't 
believe  the  'spectors  themselves  could  spell  Ornpompanoo- 
suck  right  off,  without  getting  stuck." 

Izabel's  examination  was  something  after  this  sort, 
through  the  several  English  branches  ;  yet  a  majority  of 
the  Board  of  School  Inspectors  decided  to  give  him  a  cer- 
tificate, if  we  said  so,  as  he  was  to  teach  our  school, 
and  we  were  more  interested  than  they  in  his  qualifica- 
tions ;  and  whether  the  Inspectors  knew  what  his  qualifi- 


196  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

cations  really  were,  "this  deponent  saith  not.77  Strick- 
ett  "  sloped.77 

The  next  application  was  by  letter.  The  epistle  de- 
clared that  the  applicant  "  brok7d  his  arm  inter  a  saw- 
mill, and  he  couldn7t  do  much  out-door  work  till  it  heal'd 
up  agin,  and  if  we'd  hire  him  to  carry  on  our  school,  he 
tho7t  he  would  make  it  go  well  7nough,77  —  but  the  School 
Board  decided  that  all-powerful  as  sympathy  might  be,  it 
could  scarcely  drive  a  district  school  under  such  orthog- 
raphy, syntax,  and  prosody. 

Next  appeared  Mrs.  Beagle,  in  behalf  of  her  "  Sah- 
Jane.77  "She  know7d  Sah-Jane,  and  she  know7d  Sah- 
Jane  was  jist  the  thing  for  the  Puddleford  school ;  and  if 
we  only  know7d  Sah-Jane  as  well  as  she  know7d  Sah- 
Jane,  we7d  have  her,  cost  what  it  might.77  She  said 
"  Sah-Jane  was  a  most  s'prisin7  gal  —  she  hung  right  to 
her  books,  day  and  night — and  she  know'd  she  had  a 
sleight  at  teachin7.  Mr.  Giblett7s  folks  told  Mr.  Brown's 
folks,  so  she  heer'd,  that  if  they  ever  did  get  Sah-Jane 
into  that  ere  school,  she7d  make  a  buzzin7  that  would  tell 
some.77 

Sah-Jane7s  case  was,  however,  indefinitely  postponed. 
Some  objections,  among  other  things,  on  the  score  of  age, 
were  suggested.  This  roused  the  wrath  of  Mrs.  Beagle, 
and  she  "  guessed  her  Sah-Jane  was  old  enough  to  teach 
a  Puddleford  school  —  if  she  tho7t  she  warn7t,  she7d  bile 
her  up  in-ter  soap-grease,  and  sell  her  for  a  shillin7  a 
quart !  —  and  as  for  the  de-strict  board,  they'd  better  go 
to  a  school-marm  themselves,  and  larn  somethin7,  or  be 
'lected  over  agin,  she  didn't  care  which ; 77  and  Mrs. 
Beagle  left  at  a  very  quick  step,  her  face  much  flushed 
arid  full  of  cayenne  and  vengeance. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  igf 

There  were  a  great  many  more  applications,  and  at 
last  the  board  hired  —  I  say  the  board  —  /didn't.  But 
the  other  members  overruled  me,  and  price,  not  qualifica- 
tion, settled  the  question  at  last. 

This  was  the  way  the  machinery  was  worked  in  our 
school  district,  during  the  very  early  da}rs  of  Puddleford. 
As  the  stream  never  rises  above  the  fountain-head,  educa- 
tion was  quite  feeble.  But  we  do  better  now  —  there  is 
less  friction  on  our  gudgeons,  and  if  Puddleford  should 
turn  out  a  President  one  of  these  days,  it  would  be  noth- 
ing more  than  what  our  glorious  institutions  have  before 
"  ground  out "  under  more  discouraging  circumstances. 


198  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Venison  Styles  again.  —  Sermon  on  Nature.  —  Funeral  Sorgs  of  the 
Birds.  —  Their  Flight  and  Return.  —  His  Theory  of  Government. 
—  Sakoset.  —  The  Indians. 

TTENISON  STYLES,  rough  and  rugged  as  he  was, 
*  had  acquired  much  knowledge  in  a  wild  way,  and 
could,  in  that  way,  stagger  a  philosopher.  No  man  had 
a  nicer  insight  into  nature.  Birds  and  brooks,  hills  and 
valleys,  trees  and  flowers,  were  all  his  study.  He  had  no 
faith  in  science,  except  just  so  far  as  it  came  within  his 
own  experience.  "Book  larninV  he  said,  "was  all 
very  well ;  but  lookin7  natur'  in  the  face,  and  listening  to 
what  she  said,  was  a  deal  better. "  I  remember  one  of 
his  sermons,  which  he  delivered  to  me  one  bright  October 
afternoon,  when  the  woods  were  all  russet  arid  gold,  the 
squirrels  chattering  in  the  trees,  the  nuts  dropping,  the 
partridges  whirring  and  drumming,  and  the  soft  autumnal 
light  was  faintly  struggling  along  the  aisles  of  the  forest. 
"You  see,"  said  Venison,  "how  all  natur'  is  talking 
and  if  you  will  only  listen,  can  tell  enymost  what  she 
says.  There/7  he  continued,  "just  hear  that  robin  peck- 
ing away  on  that  ere  coke  bush.  Hear  him  pipe  away 
so  melancholy-like  —  'All  goinM  all  goin;  ! J  he  says. 
How  low  and  fine  that  yaller-bird  sings  —  a  kinder 
fun'ral  song.  The  jay  is  sad-like,  and  acts  just  as 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  199 

though  he  felt  winter  comin'.  That  crow,  sailin' 
through  the  air,  croaks  awful  gloomy-like  and  holler  — 
and  all  these  ere  crickets  and  insects  jinc  in  so  sad 
and  downcast.  'Tain't  their  spring  song.  They  are 
down  onter  another  key  now.  They  begin  to  feel  frost 
inter  their  bones.  They  know  what's  cominV 

"  Know  !  "  said  I ;  "  what  do  birds  know  about 
winter,  till  it  comes. "  I  wanted  to  draw  the  old  philoso- 
pher out. 

" Know !  know !  "  continued  Yenison.  "Birds  think  and 
talk  —  yes,  they  do  —  they  know.  I've  heerd  'em  talk  to 
one  another,  from  tree-top  to  tree-top,  across  these  woods 
many  a  time  —  lay  plans  many  a  day.  What  makes 
'em  flockin'  around  us  to-day,  and  soarin'  around  in 
companies,  if  they  don't  understand  each  other  ?  They 
go  round  and  round  for  a  week  or  two,  visit  this  wood 
and  that,  jabber,  and  fret,  and  fume,  pick  up  a  straggler 
here,  'nother  there,  and  when  they  get  a  good  ready,  and 
are  flock'd,  off  they  go,  travellin'  south.  Hain't  they 
got  coPnels,  captins,  and  laws  ?  — they  arc  jest  as  much 
of  a  body  as  our  school  de-strict  is,  and  every  bird 
knows  what  he  is  about,  what  he  is  going  to  do,  and 
how,  too." 

"  Why  don't  all  the  blackbirds  go  into  one  flock, 
Venison  ?  "  said  I. 

"  There  'tis  !  there  'tis  !  "  replied  Venison  ;  "if  'twas 
all  chance,  they  would.  But  it  jest  ain't  chance.  Natur' 
has  'lowed  them  to  fix  it.  There,"  he  continued,  "  goes 
a  flock  now  —  they've  got  a  captin  among  'em,  leading 
'em  on  —  he  knows  every  one  under  him  —  and  they 
are  jest  around  visitin'  their  friends  before  goin'  off — 
that's  all." 


200  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  come  back  again,  Venison  ?  " 
I  inquired. 

"  Back  again  !  back  again  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking 
up  to  me  with  surprise.  "  Why,  man,  this  is  their  home 

—  they  were   born    here.     This  is  their   ground,   here- 
abouts.    They  know  every  tree,  and  mash,  and  river  for 
miles    'round.     You'll  hear  ;ein  chatterin'  arid  gabblin' 
by  next  April  'gain." 

"  Doubtful/'  I  replied. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Venison,  "  I've  tried  that.  Down 
to  where  I  live,  the  blackbirds  and  robins  are  thick  as 
spatter.  They  make  it  all  ring  round  me.  I  caught  a 
dozen  or  more  of  each  in  a  net  one  fall,  cut  off  one  toe 
all  round,  and  let  'em  go.  Jim  Spikes  bet  they  wouldn't 
come  back  ;  I  bet  they  would.  I  wanted  to  try  it,  you 
see.  When  spring  came  on  again  there  the  fellers  were, 
sure  enough,  or  most  on  'em,  on  hand,  ready  for  summer's 
business  again.  Jim  gin  in  —  he  did." 

"  I  should  think  they  would  stray  away,  Venison," 
said  I. 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  a  God  !  "  broke  out  Venison,  in 
an  animated  tone.  "  When  He  made  'em,  He  put  a  com- 
pass inter  their  heads  that  can't  get  out  of  fix,  and  they 
run  jest  as  straight  by  it  as  my  dog  does  by  his  nose  — 
and  a  dog's  nose  is  his  compass,  you  know." 

This  was  a  quaint,  but  a  very  pointed  way,  of  illustra- 
ting a  law  of  nature.  Venison  was  a  quaint  man,  and 
drove  at  a  conclusion  frequently  cross  lots,  by  some  star- 
tling figure  of  speech. 

"  And  I've  got  an  idee,"  continued  Venison,  "  an  idee 

—  I   don't  put  it  down  as  fact  —  that  birds  know  one 
another,  jest  as  we  do  —  remember  each  other  from  y'ar 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  2lll 

to  y'ar —  how  they  sang  together  last  y'ar  and  every 
y'ar  in  the  shadows  and  sunshine  of  this  old  wood,  and 
nested  and  raised  their  young  7uns  together  —  and  they 
kinder  bid  good  by  to  one  Another  when  they  go  off  in 
the  fall,  and  say  How  are  you  ?  when  spring  comes  on  — 
and  may  be  they  have  their  likes  and  dislikes,  and  old 
grudges  to  bring  up  agin  —  for  there  is  a  world  of  human 
natur'  in  'em  — a  world  on't  —  it  is  only  an  idee  —  can't 
say  —  but  I  believe  it — but/7 — and  the  old  hunter 
turned  round  with  a  sad  look,  —  "  they  won't  roam  round 
here  much  longer  ;  the  big  trees  are  tumblin7 ;  the  old 
seventy-sixers  are  enymost  gone.  ;  raorn'er  twenty  y'ars 
ago  they  were  mighty  noisy  up  in  that  ar  oak  (he  point- 
ed to  an  enormous  oak  stump),  but  the  varmints  heeved 
it  down,  and  made  it  inter  lumber  —  the  old  tree  that 
liv'd  and  rock'd  in  the  storms  five  hundred  years,  I 
reckon  ;  the  bees  and  birds  all  knew  it,  and  jest  hung 
around  it  7cause  they  lov'd  it.  I  have  had  many  a  good 
shot  from  it.  I  heerd  it  crash  when  it  came  down —  felt 
it,  I  did  —  feel  it  yet  —  the  varmints.'7 

"  But,77  said  I,  with  an  effort  to  turn  the  current  of 
the  old  man's  thoughts,  "  you  really  believe  that  birds 
have  their  captains  and  colonels,  and  all  that,  do  you  ?  77 

"  Yes,  sir !  arid  mor'n  that ;  kings  and  queens,  for 
aught  I  know.  It's  a  king  that  leads  the  ducks  in  their 
flight,  ain't  it  ?  Hain't  you  heer7d  him  blow  his  horn, 
awajr  in  the  sky,  as  he  led  7em  on  up  the  rivers  and 
takes  ?  Don't  the  bees  have  their  queen  ?  77 

Venison  launched  forth  in  his  peculiar  style  on  the 
theory  of  government,  despotic  and  republican  —  main- 
tained that  God  "hadn't  any  republics  77  in  his  kingdom 
—  "  all  on 'em  kings  and  queens — nobody  was  7lected 


202  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

there-— all  on  'em  were  made  from  the  beginning  to  rule 
and  reign  over  their  subjects/'  He  maintained  that  as 
God  was  almighty,  so  he  put  almighty  power  in  the 
rulers  of  the  kingdoms  under  him.  Therefore  —  such  was 
his  argument  —  "  man  orter  be  governed  by  man  "  —  not 
by  the  voice  of  the  people,  but  by  a  sovereign  higher 
than  himself.  Ilis  arguments  and  language  were  home- 
made, but  his  ideas  were  brought  out  with  great  point  and 
force. 

I  had  long  known  that  Venison  was  well  posted  on  the 
trees  and  shrubs,  flowers,  and  even  the  weeds.  Nothing 
that  he  had  ever  observed  had  failed  him.  Probably  he 
never  read  a  book  on  the  subject  in  his  life,  that  is,  if  he 
could  read.  The  familiar  names  of  all  creation  were 
understood  by  him,  and  he  had  his  own  theories  about 
everything  animate  and  inanimate.  I  started  him  off  on 
this  subject.  I  called  his  attention  to  the  oak  over  which 
he  shed  a  tear,  and  by  degrees  drew  him  along  to  the 
time  when  the  axe  and  the  plough  would  change  the 
whole  face  of  the  country  around  us  into  hamlets,  green 
pastures,  and  waving  fields  of  grain.  The  old  man 
looked  solemn.  The  subject  was  not  pleasant  to  him  — 
he  heaved  a  sigh,  and  said,  finally,  "  ;Tis  all  the  same  ! 
'tis  all  the  same  with  me  !  I  shall  be  under  the  ground 
then  1  I  don't  wanter  live  to  see  it." 

He  rallied,  and  went  on — -"They've  enymost  spilt  it 
now.  When  I  was  young,  I  could  see  a  deer  a  mile 
away  —  no  underbrush  to  shade  my  rifle.  The  deer, 
too,  look'd  grander  like,  somehow,  than  they  do  now. 
They  had  a  freedom  in  'em.  They  seemed  to  know  the 
woods  was  theirs.  They  kinder  go  sneakiri'  round  now, 
as  though  some  critter  was  artcr  'em.  This  stream  was 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  203 

filled  with  ducks,  flappiu'  their  wings,  and  washiil'  them- 
selves :  and  many  a  time  I've  heer'd  'em,  jest  as  the  sun 
was  a-settin',  talkin7  to  themselves,  and  gettin'  ready  tc 
go  to  bed.  But  the  settlers  came  in,  dammed  the  river, 
and  down  came  the  sawdust,  and  it  roar'd  and  rattled 
'em  all  away.  The  partridges  used  to  drum  and  drum 
ia  the  still  afternoon,  and  whirr  about  —  and  they  are 
gone,  too.  I  don't  believe  natur'  likes  to  be  disturbed. 
She  sorter  rebels  agin  the  plough  at  first.  She  allers 
sends  up  coke  and  bramble  when  the  furrows  are  first 
made  —  fights  it  as  well  as  she  can,  till  they  get  her 
under,  and  put  her  inter  what  they  call  crops.  The  Lord 
made  the  airth  well  enough  to  begin  with.  He  knew 
what  we  wanted.  He  gave  us  airth  and  sky,  woods 
and  water  —  birds  and  fish  to  eat  —  and  it  all  raiVd 
itself,  and  enough  on't,  too.  This  thing  they  call  civ'la- 
tion  is  right  agin  natur7.  It  makes  poor  young  men  and 
wim'in'.  They  hain't  got  no  stuff  in  'em  —  they  can't 
do  anythiri7  —  they  are  peepin7  round,  full  of  pain  of 
every  sort  —  full  of  rheumatiz,  agers,  janders,  and  all 
sorter  ails.  I've  gone  morn'er  twenty  rniles  a  day, 
loaded  with  game,  and  not  a  tired  hair  in  me  —  can  do  it 
agin."  And  thus  Venison  preached,  too  much  arid  too 
long  for  me  to  record  in  full. 

Venison  continued,  and  declared  that  "  there  was 
enough  of  everything  just  as  it  was."  He  attempted 
to  show  that  there  were  seeds  of  life  deep  in  the  earth, 
planted  there  from  the  beginning,  that  came  forth  in  due 
time,  arid  replenished  the  earth.  lie  never  *'  see'd  any 
coke  till  they  ploughed  a  furrow,  and  built  that  ere  rail 
fence  "  —  "  and  down  in  that  ere  breakin'  (which  I  saw 
had  been  neglected,  and  was  overgrown  heavily),  the 


204  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

blackberries  and  ten  thousand  other  things  were  comin' 
up.77  lie  said  he  "  would  jest  like  to  know  where  all 
that  seed  had  been  lyin'  since  the  world  was  made  — 
how  long  it  would  have  laid,  he'd  jest  like  ter  know,  if 
that  ere  plough  hadn't  stirred  up  the  sile."  And  thus  he 
attempted  to  illustrate  his  theory  of  vegetation. 

"  Not  only  the  trees,  but  the  Injuns  were  goin'.  'Tain't 
as  'twas  with  'em  when  they  went  a-whoopin'  around 
among  the  streams  and  woods.  I've  see'd  mor'n  nor  forty 
canoes  sailing  away  here  on  this  river  at  ori'st  —  and 
then  we  had  raal  Injuns  —  tall,  six-foot  fellers,  with  eyes 
like  the  eagle.  But  they,  too,  are  pinin7  out  like.  The 
white  man,  and  the  white  man's  ways,  and  the  white 
man's  drink,  has  taken  all  the  tuck  out  on  7em.  They 
know,  what  are  left  on  ;em,  that  they  ain't  raal  Injuns 
any  more.  They  don't  whoop  any  more.  They  hang 
about  the  towns  a  while,  and  get  full  of  pizen,  and  then 
slink  away  silently  inter  the  forest  again.  Sometimes, 
when  huntin'  season  conies  on,  they  fire  up,  and  chase 
the  game,  but  it  is  kinder  melancholy,  after  all  —  like  a 
flame  jest  spirtin7  out  a  minute  from  a  charr'd  and  half- 
burning  log.  There's  old  Sakoset  (I've  known  him  eny- 
most  on  to  forty  years),  was  jest  as  much  of  a  king,  and 
had  jest  as  much  of  a  throne,  as  old  George  Third  ever 
had.  He  lov'd  his  tribe,  and  they  lov'd  him.  His  word 
was  law.  These  were  all  his  grounds  for  a  hundred  miles 
round.  I  know  it  warn't  mark'd  off  into  counties,  town- 
ships, and  school  de-stiicts.  They  didn't  have  any  place 
to  file  away  papers,  nor  didn't  write  everythin'  they  did 
in  books  —  but  they  had  their  laws  jest  as  well,  all 
written  down  inter  their  heads ;  and  they  knew  their 
history  —  they  had,  what  white  men  call  their  traditions  — 


HUMORS   OF   THE   WEST.  205 

f/icy  knew  all  about  their  fathers  and  grandfathers,  and 
great-great-grandfathers  —  and  old  Sakoset  was  their  chief. 
He  was  six  feet  three  inches  by  measure,  and  as  straight 
as  that  'ere  hickory.  He  was  knit  all  over  as  tight  as  an 
oak.  He  was  as  hansome  as  a  picter,  and  I've  seen  him  in 
council,  when  I  tho't  he  was  the  noblest  lookin'  mortal  on 
this  airth.  And  there  warn't  no  man,  no  gov'ment  (Veni- 
son grew  excited  here)  that  had  as  good  a  right  to  these 
'ere  grounds  as  Sakoset.  God  gave  'em  to  him,  and  the 
white  man  stole  'em  away,  stole  'em,  sir! — stole  'em. 
Yes,  sir  !  they  passed  a  law  that  they  should  be  removed 
'yond  the  'Sippi —  gave  'em  huntin'  grounds,  as  they  call 
>em  —  drove  'em  together  like  scar'd  sheep,  and  forc'd 
'em  away  from  their  own  sile.  But  old  Sakoset  didn't 
like  his  new  home,  wouldn't  stay,  and  he  and  a  few  of  his 
tribe  straggled  back  here  agin,  and  now  wander  round 
these  woods.  But  he  ain't  the  same  man  any  more ; 
he's  all  broke  down  like ;  'tain't  the  same  place  to  him, 
he  says.  The  stream  winds  round  the  hill  yet,  and  the 
mountain  is  there,  but  the  forest  is  mostly  down,  and  the 
white  man  is  everywhere.  Sakoset  says  but  little  ;  goes 
round  dreamin'-like  ;  hangs  about  alone  in  the  woods, 
a-thinkin',  and  sees  in  his  mind  his  tribe  all  before  him  as 
it  was  when  he  was  king  over  them  on  these  grounds.  I 
saw  him  a  few  days  ago  up  in  the  Injun  bury  in '-ground 
sittin'  so  still,  I  first  tho't  he  was  a  monerment  somebody 
had  put  up  —  but  'twas  Sakoset." 

Venison  was  here  attracted  by  the  roar  of  a  gun,  and 
a  deer  rushed  past,  breaking  his  discourse,  and  we  both 
followed  the  hunter  and  the  hunted,  to  see  how  the  chase 
would  end  —  saw  the  deer  plunge  into  the  river,  the 
dogs  after  him,  and  I  watched  them  until  they  floated 
away  around  the  bend  beyond  my  sight. 


206  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Some  Account  of  John  Smith.  —  Nicknames.  —  Progress  of  the 
Age.  — The  Colonel's  Opinion  of  Science.  —  John  Smith's  Dream. 
—  Ike  Turtle's  Dream.  —  Ike  takes  the  Boots. 

PIONEERS  —  men  who  grow  up  in  the  woods  —  are 
famous  for  luxuriant  imaginations.  Everything,  with 
them,  is  on  a  sweeping  scale  with  the  natural  objects 
amid  which  they  dwell.  The  rivers,  and  lakes,  and  plains 
are  great,  and  seem  to  run  riot  —  so  men  sometimes  rim 
riot  too,  in  thought,  and  word,  and  deed.  They  deal 
largely  in  the  extravagant,  and  do  extravagant  things  in 
an  extravagant  way. 

I  have  seen  a  rusty  pioneer,  when  giving  his  opinion 
upon  some  trite  matter,  garnish  his  language  with  ima- 
gery and  figures,  and  clothe  himself  with  an  action,  that 
Demosthenes  would  have  copied,  if  he  had  met  with  such 
in  his  day.  Gestures  all  graceful,  fye  all  fire,  language 
rough,  but  strong,  and  an  enthusiasm  that  was  magnetic 
—  a  kind  of  unpremeditated  natural  eloquence,  that  many 
a  one  has  sought  for,  but  never  found. 

John  Smith  was  an  ingenious  Puddlefordian  in  the 
way  of  story-telling.  He  was  almost  equal  to  Ike  Turtle. 
John  was  a  great,  stalwart,  double-breasted  fellow,  who 
cared  for  nothing,  not  even  himself;  a  compound  made 
up  of  dare-devil  ferocity,  benevolence,  and  impudence. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  207 

His  feelings,  whether  of  the  higher  or  lower  order,  always 
ran  to  excess.  He  was  an  importation  from  Massachu- 
setts, of  fair  education,  and,  from  his  recklessness  of  life, 
had  drifted  into  Puddleford,  like  many  other  tempest- 
tossed  vessels,  stripped  of  spars  and  rigging.  Smith's 
fancy  and  imagination  were  always  at  work.  He  had 
nicknamed  two  thirds  of  Puddleford,  arid  there  was  some- 
thing characteristic  in  the  appellations  bestowed.  One 
small-eyed  man,  he  called  "  Pink-Eye  ;  "  another,  a  bus- 
tling fellow,  who  made  a  very  great  noise  on  a  very  small 
capital,  was  known  as  "  Bumble-bee  ;  "  another,  a  long- 
shanked,  loose-jointed  character,  was  "  Giraffe  ;  "  Squire 
Longbow  he  christened  "  Old  Night-Shade."  Turtle- was 
known  as  "  Sky-Rocket  ;  "  Bates  as  "  Little  Coke  ;  "  the 
Colonel  as  "  Puff-Ball."  Indeed,  not  one  man  in 
twenty  was  recognized  by  his  true  name,  so  completely 
had  Smith  invested  the  people  with  titles  of  his  own 
manufacture. 

I  recollect  one  of  Smith's  flights  of  imagination  — - 
one  among  many  —  for  I  cannot  write  out  all  his  mental 
productions. 

The  Puddlefordians  were  met,  as  usual,  at  Bulliphant's. 
That  was  the  place,  we  have  seen,  where  all  public  opin- 
ion was  created.  Turtle,  and  Longbow,  and  Bates,  and 
the  whole  roll,  even  down  to  Jim  Buzzard,  were  present. 
The  progress  of  the  ago  was  the  subject. 

Turtle  thought  "there  was  no  cac'latin'  what  things 
would  come  to  —  steam  and  ingin-rubber  were  runnin' 
one  etarnal  race,  and  he  guess'd  they'd  lay  all  opposition 
to  the  land,  and  bring  on  the  millennium." 

Bates  said  "  the  sciences  were  doiu'  sunthin',  but 
they'd  never  make  anybody  better — human  natur'  was 


208  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

so  shockin'  wicked,  that  it  would  require  u  heap  mor'n 
injin-rubber  to  rejuvify  'em." 

Mr.  Longbow  requested  Bates  "to  repeat  that  'ere  last 
word  agin." 

Bates  said  "  it  was  '  rejuvify '  —  that  is,  '  drag  out/ 
'  resurrect.'  " 

The  Squire  thanked  Bates  for  his  explanation. 

The  Colonel  said  there  was  such  a  thing  as  too 
much  science.  He  professed  to  have  lived  a  scientific 
life  —  that  is,  without  work —  but  all  the  white  he  found 
some  one  a  little  more  scientific,  and  he  had  never  been 
able  to  hold  his  own  anywhere.  He  had  been  stranded 
fourteen  times  in  his  life,  owing  to  a  press  of  science 
brought  against  him  ;  but  the  most  destructive  science 
in  the  known  world  was  that  for  the  collection  of  debts. 
It  deprived  men  of  their  liberty,  their  comforts,  their 
property,  their  friends ;  and  the  manner  in  which  this 
was  all  done  was  barbarous.  He  defied  any  man  to 
produce  as  cool-blooded  a  thing  as  an  execution  at  law, 
which  was  a  branch  of  legal  science. 

Squire  Longbow  said  —  "  A  fiery  facius  (fieri  facias) 
was  one  of  the  most  ancientest  writs  which  he  issued,  and 
there  warn't  nothin'  cool-blooded  or  ramptious  about  it." 

Mr.  Smith  sat  silently  up  to  this  point  in  the  debate. 
"  Boys/7  said  he,  at  last,  "the  world  is  goin'  ahead. 
Talkin'  of  science,  let  me  tell  you  a  dream  I  had  last 
night."  But,  if  the  reader  will  permit  me,  I  will  give 
the  substance  of  Smith's  dream  in  my  own  language.  It 
may  detract  from  its  point,  but  it  will  be  more  connected 
and  intelligible. 

"I  dreamed,  boys,"  said  Smith,  "  that  I  was  in  the 
great  Patent  Office,  at  Washington.  I  looked,  and  its 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  209 

ceiling  was  raised  to  an  enormous  height,  while  through 
open  doors  and  passages  I  saw  room  after  room  groaning 
with  thousands  of  models,  until  it  appeared  as  though  I 
was  in  a  wilderness  of  machinery.  Very  soon  a  pert 
little  gentleman,  with  a  quick  black  eye,  and  a  '  pussy ' 
body,  arrayed  in  the  queerest  costume  I  ever  saw,  came 
bustling  up  to  me,  and  asked  me  for  my  ticket.  I  invol- 
untarily thrust  my  hand  into  the  depths  of  my  breeches- 
pocket,  and  pulling  out  a  card,  delivered  it  to  him.  After 
looking  at  the  card,  and  then  at  me,  and  then  at  the  card 
again,  he  burst  out  into  a  loud  guffaw,  that  made  the  old 
Patent-Office  ring.  '  Why,  sir/  said  he,  '  this  is  no  ticket. 
It  is  the  business  card  of  one  John  Smith,  advertising  a 
patent  dog-churn,  of  which  he  here  says  he  is  the  real 
inventor,  and  it  bears  date  in  the  year  1840  —  two  hun- 
dred years  ago !  The  churn  may  be  found  in  room 
marked  "  Inventions  of  Year  1840,"  but  the  man  John 
Smith  we  haven't  got.  I  don't  much  think  he  is  around 
above  ground,  just  at  this  time/  said  the  little  man, 
chuckling.  'But/  said  I,  'who  are  you,  if  I  am  not 
John  Smith  ?  Were  you  not  appointed  by  Polk,  Secre- 
tary of  the  Interior,  and  did  I  not  put  a  word  in  his  ear 
favorable  to  you  ?  ;  '  Polk,  a  Secretary  of  the  Interior  !  ' 
exclaimed  he  ;  '  I  appointed  by  Polk  !  Why,  my  dear 
sir,  I  was  appointed  only  two  years  ago  —  not  two 
hundred!  —  "  Chief  of  the  Great  Central  Department/' 
as  the  office  is  now  called/ 

"  While  we  were  talking,  Franklin,  Adams,  Jefferson, 
and  Fulton,  walked  in  and  took  seats.  I  knew  Uncle 
Ben  the  moment  I  cast  my  eyes  upon  him.  He  was 
dressed  in  good  old  "76  style  ;  —  shoe-buckles,  short 
breeches,  queue,  and  all ;  and  that  same  jolly,  round  face, 
14 


210  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

and  double  chin,  that  tranquil  countenance  just  touched, 
without  being  destroyed,  by  comedy  —  were  all  there. 
Adams  and  Jefferson  I  had  before  seen,  and  they  were  a 
little  more  modern  in  dress,  but  they  both  looked  care- 
worn. Fulton  sat  apart,  and  eyed  the  other  three  as 
though  he  had  seen  them  somewhere,  but  yet  could  not 
call  them  by  name. 

"  The  rather  unexpected  arrival  of  these  gentlemen 
broke  up  the  comments  of  my  bustling  interrogator,  and 
one  of  those  pauses  occurred  which  frequently  do  upon 
the  appearance  of  strangers.  Uncle  Ben  asked  Jefferson 
if  he  would  '  riot  like  to  move  up  to  the  fire  and  warm 
his  feet  ?  '  '  Fire  ! '  said  I,  '  fire.  Why,  Uncle  Ben,  there 
is  no  fireplace  now-a-days.  Stoves  and  hot-air  furnaces 
are  all  the  go.  This  building  is  warmed  by  a  great 
furnace,  and  two  miles  of  pipe  that  conducts  the  heat  to 
every  room  in  it.'  '  Not  by  a  long  way/  said  my  bus- 
tling friend  —  '  not  by  a  long  way,  Mr.  John  Smith.  This 
trumpery  is  all  piled  away  among  the  inventions  of  the 
years  that  were.  These  things  belong  to  the  age  of  your 
dog-churn.  Why,  gentlemen/  continued  he,  '  have  }rou 
never  heard  of  the  Great  Southern  IIot-Air  Company, 
chartered  in  1960,  whose  business  it  is  to  furnish  warm 
air  from  the  South  to  persons  at  the  North  ;  price  to  fami- 
lies three  dollars  a  year  ;  all  done  by  a  gigantic  under- 
ground tunnel,  and  branches,  worked  at  the  other  end  by 
an  air-pump  I  Have  you  never  heard  of  this,  gentlemen  ? 
Here  we  get  the  natural  heat  of  the  South,  wanned  by 
the  sun  ;  none  of  your  stinking  coal  and  wood  gases  to 
corrupt  and  destroy  it.  And  then  the  principle  of  reci- 
procity is  kept  up  ;  for  we  send  back  our  cold  air  in  the 
same  way  ;  and  so  we  keep  up  an  equilibrium,  for  the 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  211 

South  are  just  as  strenuous  as  ever  to  keep  up  the  equi- 
librium of  the  Union.  Why,  gentlemen,  those  stoves 
required  constant  care.  As  often  as  every  week  it  was 
necessary  to  replenish  them  with  wood  or  coal.  No !  no  ! 
—  those  improvements  belonged  to  the  dark  ages." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Ben.  "  Impossible  !  " 
repeated  Fulton.  "  And  so  you  don't  use  the  old 
'  Franklin  ;  stove  any  more?"  said  Uncle  Ben.  ''Per- 
haps," he  continued,  a  quiet  smile  playing  over  his  face, 
as  if  he  intended  a  comical  shot,  "  perhaps  you  don't  use 
lightning  now-a-days  either,  and  my  lightning-rods,  of 
course,  belong  to  the  dark  ages  too  I  " 

"  We  have  the  lightning,  and  use  it  too,  but  only  one 
rod,  built  by  the  state,  near  its  centre,  which  is  so  colos- 
sal and  powerful  that  it  protects  everything  around  it." 
And  then  the  little  fellow  rattled  on  about  the  use  of 
lightning ;  how  it  wrote  mil  over  the  world  the  English 
language,  until  I  verily  believe  that  Uncle  Ben,  Fulton, 
and  all,  set  him  down  as  the  most  unscrupulous  liar  that 
they  had  ever  met  with. 

"  I  think,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "  that  I  could  convince 
myself  of  the  truth  of  your  assertions,  if  I  could  go  to 
Boston  ;  but  as  my  time  is  very  limited,  I  cannot." 

"  Send  you  there  in  five  minutes  by  the  watch !  " 
answered  the  little  man  ;  "  or,  if  that's  too  soon,  in  twen- 
ty four  hours.  It  requires  powerful  lungs  to  go  by  bal- 
loon—  time  five  minutes  —  departure  every  half  hour. 
The  magnetic  railway  train  will  take  you  through  in  four 
hours,  or  on  the  old-fashioned  railroad  in  twenty-four." 
"What,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "  is  the  old  stage  company 
entirely  broken  up  ?"  "Don't  know  what  37ou  mean  by 
stages,"  said  the  little  man,  "  but  I  will  look  for  the  word 


212  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

in  the  big  dictionary."  "  Go  by  steamboat,"  said  Fulton. 
"  Steamboat  !  "  repeated  the  little  man,  —  "  steamboat ! 
too  everlasting  slow  —  not  over  twenty-five  miles  an  hour 
—  well  enough  for  freight,  but  passengers  cannot  endure 
them ;  they  go  laboring  and  splashing  along  at  a  snail's 
pace,  and  they  are  enough  to  wear  out  any  man's  pa- 
tience. Yet  the  steamboat  was  the  greatest  stride  ever 
made  at  any  one  time  in  the  way  of  locomotion,  and  was 
very  creditable  to  Fulton  and  the  age  in  which  he  lived." 
"  That  is  admitting  something,"  burst  out  Fulton,  who  had 
sat  like  a  statue,  watching  the  little  man's  volubility. 
"But,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "all  this  talk  don't  get  me  on 
my  way  to  Boston.  That  is  my  birthplace.  I  was  there 
for  the  last  time  in  1763,  and  you  know  that,  according  to 
the  provisions  of  my  will,  there  is  more  than  four  million 
pounds  sterling  of  my  money  which  has  by  this  time 
been  disposed  of  by  the  stat£  somehow."  Uncle  Ben 
was  always  a  shrewd  fellow  in  the  way  of  dollars  and 
cents,  and  I  could  see  he  was  very  anxious  about  that 
money.  "  Oho  !  oho  !  "  said  the  little  man  ;  "  so  you  are 
Ben  Franklin,  and  you  are  the  old  gentleman  who  left 
that  legacy.  We've  got  a  portrait  of  you  up-stairs,  more 
than  two  hundred  years  old,  and  it  does  look  like  you. 
Glad  to  see  you !  You  said  something  in  your  lifetime 
about  immersing  yourself  in  a  cask  of  Madeira  wine  with 
a  few  friends,  and  coming  to  the  world  in  a  hundred  years 
again.  These  are  your  friends,  I  suppose  ?"  "These 
gentlemen,"  replied  Uncle  Ben,  "  are  John  Adams  and 
Thomas  Jefferson,  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence." "  The  other  gentleman,"  continued  I,  "is  Robert 
Fulton,  whom  you  have  spoken  of."  "  Well,  I  declare  !  " 
ejaculated  the  little  man,  "  this  is  a  meeting  !  But  about 


HUMORS   OF  THE  WEST.  213 

that  legacy,  Uncle  Ben,  of  yours  ;  two  million  sterling 
of  it  has  gone  to  build  the  Gutta  Percha  Magnetic  Tele- 
graph line,  connecting  Boston  with  London  and  Paris, 
two  of  the  largest  cities  in  the  Eastern  Republic  of 
Europe."  "  Gutta  Percha  I  —  Magnetic  telegraph  !  — 
Republic  of  Europe  !  " — repeated  all  of  them.  "All 
built  under  water,  and  sustained  by  buoys/'  continued 
the  little  man,  "  and  it  works  to  a  charm  —  plan  up-stairs 
in  room  204  —  and  can  be  seen  in  a  moment ;  and,  as  I 
told  you  before,  it  writes  the  English  language  as  fast  as 
my  deputy."  "  Republic  of  Europe  !"  exclaimed  Jeffer- 
son, again.  "Yes,  sir,"  said  the  little  man,  "  for  more 
than  a  century.  No  more  thrones  ;  no  more  rulers  by 
divine  right ;  no  more  governments  sustained  by  powder 
and  ball ;  no  lords  nor  nobles  ;  man  is  man,  not  merely 
one  of  a  class  of  men,  but  individually  man,  with  rights 
as  perfect  and  powers  as  great  as  any  other  man.  The 
principles,  Jefferson,  of  your  Declaration,  which  you  did 
not  create,  but  only  asserted,  have  prostrated  every  arbi- 
trary government  on  the  globe.  Even  the  Jews,  since 
their  return  to  Jerusalem,  have  organized  a  republican 
form  of  government,  and  have  just  elected  Mr.  Noah 
President."  "  Well,"  thinks  I  to  myself,  "  that  can't  be 
Mordecia  M.  Noah,  anyhow,  for  politics  must  have  used 
up  his  constitution  before  this."  But  the  little  man 
chattered  away,  and  declared  that  Europe  was  divided 
into  two  republics,  the  Eastern  and  Western ;  that  Con- 
stantinople was  the  capital  of  the  Western;  that  Africa 
and  Asia  were  also  republican  ;  until  the  three  signers 
of  the  Declaration,  perfectly  wrought  up  to  a  frenzy  of 
joy,  rose  up  from  their  seats,  took  off  their  hats,  and 
swinging  them  round,  gave  "  Three  cheers  for  '76,  and  the 


214  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

old  Army  of  the  Revolution  !  "  —  and  I  verily  believe  Uncle 
Ben  forgot  all  about  that  money,  and  about  going  to  Bos- 
ton, for  he  did  not  allude  to  it  any  more  in  my  presence. 
11  Great  changes  these  !  "  continued  the  little  man, 
"  from  your  days.  But  you  must  riot  think,  gentlemen, 
that  we  have  forgotten  you  or  your  services,  while  we 
have  improved  in  wisdom  and  strength.  Look  here, 
gentlemen, "  and  he  motioned  us  away,  and,  leading  on, 
he  conducted  us  to  an  observatory  on  the  top  of  the 
building.  Such  a  prospect  I  never  before  beheld. 
Away,  around,  on  every  side,  stretched  a  might}7  city, 
whose  limits  the  eye  could  not  reach.  Towers,  temples, 
spires,  and  masts  succeeded  towers,  temples,  spires, 
and  masts,  until  they  were  lost  in  the  distant  haze.  Canals 
traversed  every  street,  and  boats  of  merchandise  were 
loading  and  unloading  their  freights.  Steam-carriages 
were  puffing  along  the  roads  that  ran  by  the  canal,  some 
filled  with  pleasure  parties,  and  some  laden  with  goods. 
Turning  my  eye  to  an  elevation,  I  saw  fifty-six  gigantic 
monuments,  whose  peaks  were  nearly  lost  in  the  sky, 
ranged  in  a  line,  all  alike  in  form  and  sculpture.  "  These/' 
said  the  little  man,  "were  erected  to  the  Signers  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  ;  "  and,  taking  out  his  tele- 
scope, he  handed  it  to  Uncle  Ben,  who  read  aloud  among 
the  inscriptions  the  names,  FRANKLIN,  JEFFERSON,  ADAMS. 
"  But  let  us  know  what  this  city  is  called  ?  "  inquired 
Jefferson.  "  This,  sir,  is  called  Columbia-no  ;  it  lies  on 
the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  population  five  millions, 
according  to  the  last  census."  "  But  what  supports  it  ?  " 
"  Supports  it !  The  great  East  India  trade.  That  vessel 
down  there  is  direct  from  Canton,  by  ship  canal  across 
the  Isthmus.  All  Europe  is  secondary  to  us  now.  No 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  215 

doubling'  capes,  as  was  done  in  your  day.  Yonder  stands 
the  Capitol  ;  and  the  whole  North  American  continent  is 
annually  represented  there.  The  city  of  San  Francisco 
alone  sends  forty-four  members.  There/7  continued  he, 
pointing  his  finger,  "  that  balloon  rising  slowly  in  the  sky 
has  just  started  for  that  place,  and  the  passengers  will 
take  their  dinner  there  to-morrow." 

Jefferson  asked  the  little  man  "  whether  the  Federal- 
ists or  Democrats  were  in  power  ?  7> —  and  1  saw  that 
Adams  waked  up  when  he  heard  the  question.  "Don't 
know  any  such  division/7  replied  he.  "  The  great  meas- 
ure of  the  day,  upon  which  parties  are  divided,  is  the 
purchase  of  the  South  American  continent  at  five  hun- 
dred millions  of  dollars.  1  go  for  it ;  and  before  another 
year  the  bargain  will  be  consummated.  We  must  have 
more  territory  —  we  haven't  got  half  enough.  Extent 
of  territory  gives  a  nation  dignity  and  importance.  The 
old  thirteen  states  of  your  day,  gentlemen,  were  a  mere 
cabbage  patch,  and  should  have  been  consolidated  into 
one  state.  Ten  or  twenty  days7  sail  ran  you  plump  into 
a  hostile  port,  and  then  you  had  a  demand  for  duty.  Be- 
sides, conflicting  interests  always  brew  up  difficulties  ; 
and  then  come  treaties,  and  finally  war,  and  then  debt, 
and  at  last  oppressive  taxation.  A  nation  should  own 
all  the  territory  that  joins  it.  The  ocean  is  the  only  nat- 
ural boundary  for  a  people.77  Thinks  I,  "  You  have  been 
a  politician  in  your  day,  and  I711  just  engage  you  to  cor- 
respond with  a  certain  New  York  editor,  who  shall  be 
nameless  ;  you  strike  off  the  doctrine  boldly  !  77 

Uncle  Ben  told  the  little  man,  after  lie  closed,  that  a 
nation  might  "  get  so  very  ripe  as  to  become  a  little  rot- 
ten ;  and,  if  he  had  no  objection,  he  would  present  him 


216  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

with  the  'Sayings  of  Poor  Richard/'  And,  Bolting* the 
action  to  the  word,  he  pushed  his  hand  into  his  breeches- 
pocket,  and  pulled  out  an  old  almanac,  printed  at  Phila- 
delphia in  1732,  and,  bowing,  handed  it  to  him.  The  lit- 
tle man  thanked  him,  and  promised  to  deposit  it  in  the 
Museum,  as  a  curious  piece  of  antiquity. 

"  Getting  somewhat  anxious  for  a  smoke,  I  drew  forth 
a  cigar  and  '  loco-foco/  rubbed  the  latter  across  my  boot, 
which  flashed  out  its  light  full  in  Uncle  Ben's  face. 
'  That  is  nice/  exclaimed  he  ;  '  rather  an  improvement 
on  the  old  string,  wheel,  and  tinder  plan/  '  Simple,  too, 
isn't  it  ?  ;  said  I  ;  '  and  yet  all  the  science  of  your  day 
didn't  detect  it/  Just  then  I  gave  a  puff,  which  made 
Uncle  Ben  sneeze  ;  and  he  broke  out  into  a  tirade  against 
tobacco  that  would  read  well.  But  I  told  him  there  was 
no  use ;  men  had  smoked  and  chewed  the  weed  —  would 
smoke  and  chew  it,  economy  or  no  economy,  health  or  no 
health,  filth  or  no  filth  ;  and  that  in  all  probability  the 
last  remnant  of  the  great  American  Republic,  for  suc- 
ceeding nations  to  gaze  at,  would  be  a  plug  of  tobacco  ; 
for  I  sincerely  believed  that  tobacco  would  outlive  the 
government  itself. 

"  The  little  man  proposed  returning  into  the  Patent 
Office,  and  exhibiting  to  us  in  detail  the  models  of  art 
there  deposited.  But  I  cannot  weary  you  with  what  I 
there  saw.  The  fruits  of  every  year,  since  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  department,  were  divided  into  rooms,  and  in- 
dicated on  the  door  by  an  inscription.  There  were  thou- 
sands of  improvements  in  every  branch  of  science,  many 
of  which  were  to  simple,  that  I  thought  myself  a  fool 
that  I  did  not  discover  them  long  ago.  Principles  were 
applied,  the  very  operation  of  which  I  now  recollected 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  217 

to  have  often  seen,  yet  without  a  thought  of  their  practi- 
cal utility.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  accident  was 
the  parent  of  more  that  I  saw  than  design  ;  'for  how/ 
reasoned  I,  '  is  it  possible  that  these  pieces  of  machinery 
could  otherwise  have  escaped  the  great  men  who  have 
lived  and  died  in  ignorance  of  them  ?  ' 

"  By  this  time  we  were  quite  fatigued,  and  Uncle  Ben 
complained  a  little  of  the  '  stone/  which  he  said  he  was 
subject  to.  The  little  man  gave  him  some  '  Elixir  of  Life/ 
as  he  called  it,  being,  as  he  said,  '  an  extract  of  the  nu- 
tritious portions  of  meats  and  vegetables,  purged  from 
their  grossriess  as  found  in  their  natural  state  ;  '  and 
while  we  were  sipping  it,  he  launched  forth  upon  its  great 
benefit  to  mankind ;  the  money  saved  that  used  to  be 
expended  in  cookery  and  transportation  —  millions  upon 
millions  ;  the  great  economy  in  time,  formerly  squan- 
dered in  eating,  &c.,  &c. ;  and  he  wound  up  his  eulogy 
by  presenting  each  of  us  with  a  bottle,  which  I  carefully 
put  away  in  my  pocket. 

"Adams  then  rose  up,  and  said  he  must  leave,  and 
Jefferson,  Uncle  Ben,  and  Fulton  followed.  And  in  a 
moment  Uncle  Ben,  Fulton,  Adams,  Jefferson,  the  little 
man,  the  apartments,  wheels,  and  machinery,  began  to 
rock,  and  heave,  and  fade,  and  finally  dissolve  ;  and  sud- 
denly I  awoke  !  " 

"You  did  awake  !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  drawing 
a  breath  all  the  way  from  his  boots  ;  "  I  should  have 
thought  you  would/' 

Bates  gave  a  yawn,  and  throwing  his  quid  into  the 
fire,  called  for  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  water,  saying  he 
would  "  try  to  choke  down  the  story  with  that." 

Longbow  sat  perfectly  magnetized  —  his  arms  folded 


218  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

across  bis  breast,  his  chin  dropped,  his  legs  resting  on 
his  boot-heels,  and  pushed  out  in  front  of  him,  as  though 
he  was  driving  a  hard-bitted  horse,  and  his  one  eye  stared 
vacantly  at  the  coals  in  the  huge  fire-place.  He  gave 
an  unconscious  grunt  when  Smith  concluded,  but  made 
no  commentary. 

Turtle  said  "the  dream  was  very  remarkable  for  such 
a  man  as  Smith  ;  but  he  guessed  he  had  it,  and  he  was 
going  to  believe  it,  because  it  was  upon  the  word  of  a 
Puddlefordian.  But  he'd  had  one  that  beat  it  all  holler 
—  s'prisin'  dream  —  like  them  air  visions  that  somebody 
unriddled  for — he  couldn't  recollect  the  name  of  the 
man  now  —  no  matter,  the  dream's  the  same. 

"  I  got  up  one  morning,"  said  Ike,  "  and  went  down 
to  my  breakfast-table,  but  there  warn't  one  of  my  family 
present.  I  saw  seated  around  it,  however,  a  strange 
company  of  folks,  and  dressed  as  no  mortals  ever  were 
before,  since  the  flood,  I  reckon.  There  warn't  nothin' 
that  ever  I  seed  before  on  any  on  'em.  I  took  my  place 
at  the  head  of  the  board,  arid  attempted  to  do  the  carv- 
in'  ;  but  there  warn't  nobody  that  understood  my  meanin'. 
Pork  warn't  pork  any  more  ;  and  when  I  tried  to  pass 
pork,  I  found  that  it  had  a  kind-er  fancy  name,  which  I 
have  now  forgot. 

"  One  great  goggle-eyed  fellow,  who  sat  at  my  right 
hand,  informed  a  lady  near  him  '  that  he'd  got-ter  go  over 
to  Agoria  before  dinner,  and  get  his  sun-dial  fixed  ;  but 
his  wings  were  down  at  the  shop  being  fixed,  and  he 
couldn't  start  this  hour  yet." 

"  '  Agoria  !      Where's  that  ?  '  asked  I. 
"*' '  Don't   know  where   Agoria  is  —  ha,  ha  !     On  the 
River  Amazon,  a  trip  of  a  couple  of  thousand  of  miles.' 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  219 

And  so  he  took  out  a  little  eye-glass,  and  looked  at  me 
for  a  long  time,  and,  putting  it  back  in  his  pocket,  said 
'  he  thought  I  was  a  North  Pole-ander,  or  a  ghost ;  he 
didn't  know  which. 

11 '  Dear  me  !  you  will  be  keerful,  now  won't  you  ?  '  said 
the  lady.  Two  hundred  collisions  in  the  air  last  night, 
among  the  winged  men  ;  almost  as  many  the  night  afore 
—  awful !  ' 

"The  goggle-eyed  man  said  he  would. 

"  '  Did  you  hear  President  Jones  lecter  last  night/  said 
a  spectacled  critter,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  stick- 
ing his  forefinger  out  to  me. 

"  '  No,  sir-ee!'  I  hollered  back  to  him,  as  I  was  some 
little  frustrated  by  this  time. 

"  '  He  showed/  said  the  man,  'that  one  Tom  Jefferson 
prob'bly  did  write  the  Declaration  of  Independence  that 
the  ancients  made/ 

11  '  You  don't  say  so,  though,  do  you  ?  '  said  I.  '  You're 
a  bright  set  of  chaps  the  whole  on  you,  President  Jones 
and  all/ 

"  There  was  a  mighty  deal  said  about  the  Persian  war 
with  America ;  what  somebody  said  who  came  from  Af- 
rica last  night  —  what  this  man  and  that  man  done  in 
Congress ;  but  getting  out  of  patience  at  last,  I  jumped 
up,  and  left  the  whole  on  ;em  ;  and  as  I  passed  out  of  the 
room,  told  'ern  '  they  might  all  go  to  grass.' 

"  As  I  left  the  house,  I  saw  an  almanac  hanging  on  the 
wall  for  the  year  2564.  The  first  thought,  when  I  saw 
this,  was,  '  Where,  in  the  name  of  Andrew  Jackson,  is 
Puddleford  now  ? ; 

"  But  what  was  my  surprise,  when  I  got  inter  the 
street,  which  was  all  laid  with  slabs  of  granite,  and  lined 


220  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

with  palaces,  to  find  Squire  Longbow  walking  along 
with  his  wings  folded  on  his  back,  looking  as  riat'ral  as 
the  old  fogy  himself. 

"  '  Squire/  said  I,  '  here's  to  you  I  ' 

"  The  Squire  said  *  he  hadn't  the  honor  of  my  'quaint- 
ance/ 

"'0,  you  old  scoundrel!'  said  I,  'you  can't  come 
that  —  '  " 

11  That's  false  !  "  exclaimed  Longbow  ;  "  I  didn't  ha\e 
no  such  talk." 

"  It  was  only  a  dream —  you  forget,"  answered  Ike. 

"  Exactly/'  replied  the  Squire,  relapsing  into  his  former 
mood. 

"  '  You  can't  come  that,  old  man/  I  repeated  ;  '  I  could 
tell  you  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  in  the  night ;  what 
are  you  about,  old  feller?  You  look  fat  and  pussy.' 

"The  Squire  said  'he  was  Judge  of  the  Continental 
Supreme  Court/ 

"  '  So  I  should  think/  said  I  ;  '  I  just  left  a  dozen  asses 
at  my  breakfast  table,  and  you're  just  the  man  for  all  the 
world  to  be  their  judge/ 

"  That's  a  contempt  1  "  exclaimed  the  Squire,  jumping 
from  his  chair. 

"  Nothin'  but  a  dream,  and  they  allers  go  by  contra- 
ries," answered  Ike. 

"So  they  do,"  said  the  Squire,  calmly,  sitting  down 
again. 

"  '  Where's  Bates,  and  the  Colonel,  and  Bulliphant, 
and  the  other  Puddlefordians  ?  '  inquired  I. 

"  '  Bates/  said  the  Squire,  'burst  a  blood-vessel  sev- 
eral hundred  years  ago,  running  down  a  southern  kid- 
napper, and  died  quick-ern  a  flash.  He  didn't  leave  noth- 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  221 

ing  scasely  for  his  family,  'cause  he  spent  all  his  time  on 
public  affairs.  The  Colonel  left  the  country  with  the 
sheriff  at  his  heels  ;  and  he  rather  thought  he  was  some- 
where about  the  streets  now,  as  he  saw  a  feller  t'other 
day  'fore  the  court,  for  debt,  that  looked  jest  like  him. 
Bujliphant  went  off  in  spontaneous  combustion  —  in  a 
kind  of  blue  fire,  and  the  old  woman  fretted  herself  out, 
a  couple  of  years  arter  ;  but/  said  the  Squire,  '  I  can't 
be  detained.  Story's  waitiri'  for  me  on  the  bench,  and 
we  decide  the  title  to  a  million  of  acres  of  land,  at  ten 
this  morning.' 

"  This  woke  me.  Story  and  the  decision  by  Longbow, 
knocked  my  dream  out-er  sight." 

Bates  pulled  off  his  boots,  and  handing  them  to  Ike,  in- 
formed him  that  they  were  his,  by  the  custom  of  Puddle- 
fordians,  and  the  meeting  adjourned. 


222  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Ike  Turtle  in  his  Office.  —  The  Author  consults  him  on  Point  of 
Law.  —  Taxes  of  Non-Kesidents.  —  Law  in  Pudddleford.  —  Mr. 
Bridget's  Case.  — Legal  Discussion.  —  The  Case  settled. 

WE  very  often  get  an  idea  of  a  community  by  fathom- 
ing its  leading  men.  We  stick  our  stakes  at  that 
point,  arid  reason,  by  comparison,  downward  ;  not  that 
prominent  individuals  make  the  community,  any  more 
than  the  community  makes  them  ;  but  both  act  and 
react  upon  each  other,  until  a  standard  is  formed  — 
and  that  standard  is  just  high  enough  for  the  occasion  — 
the  necessities  of  the  present.  Water  never  rises  above 
its  level. 

You  have,  respected  reader,  already  seen  much  —  per- 
haps too  much  —  of  Ike  Turtle.  You  must  recollect, 
however,  as  I  have  before  declared,  that  he  was  an  em- 
bodiment of  the  spirit  of  his  time.  He  was  the  presid- 
ing genius  of  Puddleford,  and  had  been  as  much  moulded 
by  it  as  he  had  moulded  Puddleford. 

Turtle,  as  we  have  seen,  was  a  host  in  law  —  that  is, 
he  was  a  host  in  Puddleford  law.  lie  was  just  as  useful 
and  mighty  in  his  sphere  as  Webster  ever  was  in  his.  It 
must  in  candor  be  admitted  that  there  was  a  difference  in 
spheres  ;  but  that  in  no  way  affects  the  principle  —  and 
principle  Ls  what  we  are  contending  for. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  223 

I  have  thus  far  exhibited  to  you  Turtle  under  excite- 
ment, as  an  advocate  in  the  case  of  Filkins  vs.  Beadle, 
defending  his  country  against  what  he  called  an  "  aboli- 
tion lecter,"  struggling  in  the  cause  of  education  ;  but 
we  cannot  always  probe  a  great  man  to  the  bottom,  and 
disinter  the  latent  jewels  of  mind,  unless  we  know  and 
observe  him  unruffled  by  passion,  and  unswayed  by 
feeling.  The  line  arid  lead  must  be  cast  into  still  waters 
to  sound  the  depths  of  the  ocean. 

I  had  occasion  to  consult  Turtle  on  a  point  of  law. 
The  question  was,  whether  a  certain  woman  who  claimed 
dower  in  my  land  could  probably  show  a  state  of  facts 
that  would  legally  entitle  her  to  recover. 

Mr.  Turtle's  office  was  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms  of  a 
tumble-down  tailor's  shop  in  the  village.  Outside  his 
sign  swung  to  and  fro  :  "I.  Turtle,  'Torney  in  all 
Courts."  Inside,  it  was  garnished  with  three  chairs 
without  backs,  a  pine  table,  whittled  into  pieces  by  the 
loungers,  a  number  of  loose  papers  lying  in  an  old 
flour-barrel,  an  ink-bottle  with  a  yellow  string  around 
its  nose,  a  copy  of  the  statutes,  a  stub  of  a  pen,  volume 
two  of  Blackstone,  and  no  law-book  beside,  all  of  which 
were  enveloped  in  dirt  and  cobwebs.  Mr.  Turtle  him- 
self, when  I  entered,  sat  in  one  chair,  his  two  feet 
stretched  wide  apart,  each  in  another,  like  the  two  ex- 
tremities of  a  letter  A  ;  and  Ike  himself  was  very  phil- 
osophically smoking  a  pipe,  and  blowing  the  whiffs  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Turtle's  office  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  I  should  rayther  think  it  was,"  answered  Ike,  draw- 
ing out  his  pipe,  and  pointing  to  a  chair. 

"  I  have  a  little  business,"  said  I. 


224  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

"Most  people  do  have,"  said  he.  "  I'm  chuck  full 
on't  myself." 

,,  Suppose,"  said  I,  "a  man  dies,  and  leaves  a  widow, 
and  that  widow  should  claim  —  " 

"  Hold  on,  right  there  !  "  exclaimed  Ike,  laying  down 
his  pipe.  "  Hold  on,  old  fellow  ;  this  s'posiri'  don't  do 
in  this  'ere  office.  I  never  gives  opinions  on  fancy  cases. 
Time's  little  too  precious.  I  want  the  raal  facts  on  the 

matter,  jest  as  they  happened  ;  and,  besides,  Mr.  , 

fust  thing  I  know  I  shall  give  an  opinion  right  butt  agin 
one  of  my  clients  —  (I  have  regular  clients,  you  see,  that 
-I've  got  ter  stand  up  for,  if  it  busts  me), — and  this 
wheelin'  round  and  taking  a  back  track  spiles  one's 
reputation,  and  tears  his  conscience,  awful  to  behold  ! " 

"  Well,"  I  continued,  "  as  I  was  goin'  to  say  —  " 

"  No,  sir-ee !  you  ain't  goin'  to  say.  Who  died  ? 
who's  the  widow  ?  Them  are  the  startin'  pints  in  a 
new  country/' 

"  But,"  continued  I,  "  that  will  riot  affect  the  prin- 
ciple." 

"  Won't  it,  though  ?  "  answered  Ike.  "  What  are 
principles  to  folks  in  a  new  country  ?  What  are  residents 
to  non-residents  ?  Why,  you  take  a  resident  widow,  a 
little  good-lookin',  and  she  can  hold  all  the  land  she 
claims  agin  a  non-resident.  Juries  have  feelin's,  and 
are  human  like  other  people." 

"  0,  I  see  !  "  said  I. 

"  Jest  so,"  said  he. 

"Well,  then,"  I  continued,  "the  widow  is  a  resident 
of  Puddleford,  and  so  arn  1 ;  and  the  widow  claims  a  life 
interest  in  one  third  of  my  land." 

Ike  pondered,  and  rubbed  his  head,  and  looked  for  a 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  225 

long  time  steadily  at  the  toes  of  his  boots.     At  last  a 
thought  struck  him. 

"  lias  she  any  children  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  She  has." 

"  Young  ?  " 

"  Twelve  and  fourteen." 

"  Bad  age  for  you,"  said  Ike  ;  "  worse  than  two  posi- 
tive witnesses  swearin'  straight  inter  yer  favor." 

"  But  what  have   children  to  do   with  a  principle  of 
law  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  somewhat  animated. 

"You're  green/7  exclaimed  Ike  ;  "  you'll  sprout  if  you. 
get  catched  in  a  shower.  What  has  law  got  ter  do  with 
a  widder  and  two  children  out  here  ?  Don't  you  know 
the  widder  and  the  two  children  will  be  put  right  straight 
to  the  jury,  and  that  they'll  swamp  you  and  your  case, 
and  all  the  la'  you  can  bring  agin  'em  ?  " 

''Very  likely,"   said  I  ;    "but  is    Puddleford   law  all 
made  for  widows,  babies,  and -residents  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  You  see,"  continued  Ike  :  "  you  hain't  lived  long- 
here.  A  new  country  is  a  kind  of  self-sustainin'  machine. 
We've  all  got-ter  go  in  for  ourselves.  When  folks  take 
the  brunt  of  settlin'  wild  land,  somebody's  got-ter  and 
ought-ter  suffer.  Non-residents  have  ter  pay  all  taxes. 
They  have  to  pay  onto  the  value,  and  onto  our  takin' 
care  of  their  lands.  We  can't  afford  to  scare  off  the 
animals  and  bring  their  property  into  market  for  nothin'. 
Why,  old  Sykes,  who  lives  away  down  to  the  east'ard, 
pa}rs  half  the  taxes  of  Puddleford,  arid  don't  own  more 
than  four  sections  of  land.  The  'sessors  kind-er  look 
at  the  spirit  of  the  law  when  they  lay  taxes,  and  the 
spirit  of  our  tax-law  stretches  'cordin'  to  circum- 
stances. India-rubber  ain't  nothin'  to  it.  Jest  so  in 
15 


226  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

la'  matters.  The  la'  is  favorable  to  Puddlcfordians  ; 
our  courts  lean  that  way  —  it's  kind-er  second  riater  to 
'em  —  a  kind-er  law  of  self-preservation  —  primary  law 
of  natur',  you  know  —  a  duty  ;  and  therefore  I  was  par- 
ticular to  know  who  the  person  was  who  claimed  your 
land." 

"  Mine's  a  case,"  said  I,  after  Ike  concluded  his 
digression,  "  of  Puddleford  against  Puddleford." 

"  Puddleford  against  itself,  both  residents  —  a  woman 
and  two  children  against  a  man  ?  " 
.     "  That's  the  case,"  said  I. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Ike. 

"  The  widow  claims  a  life  interest,  and  yet  she  signed 
the  deed  with  her  husband." 

"  Did  sign  it?"  inquired  Ike  again.  "  What  is  she 
growlin'  about,  then  ?  " 

"  She  claims  she  was  deranged." 

"  And  didn't  know  nothin',  ha  ?  " 

"  And  she  says  she  can  prove  it." 

"  That  is,  Sile  Bates  can  for  her,  I  s'pose." 

Squire  Longbow  dropped  in  at  this  point  of  the  con- 
versation. Ike  arose,  walked  several  times  swiftly  across 
the  floor,  turning  each  time  with  a  jerk,  and  finally  wheel- 
ing up  in  front  of  me,  said  his  fee  for  opinions  was  one 
dollar. 

The  fee  was  paid. 

"  Now,"  exclaimed  Ike,  pushing  his  fee  in  his  vest 
pocket,  "  who's  the  woman  ?  " 

"  Old  Mrs.  Bridget,"  said  I. 

"  There  are  just  half  a  dozen  defences,"  exclaimed 
Ike;  "  and  each  one  will  blow  the  case  sky-high.  No- 
body can't  set  up  insanity  in  a  new  country,  because 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  227 

there  ain't  nothin'  here  to  make  anybody  insane  ;  and  if 
there  was,  our  judges  arid  juries  think  a  leetle  too  much 
of  themselves,  thick  as  the  bushes  are,  to  'low  a  Puddle- 
fordian  to  prove  herself  a  fool  in  open  court.  There  is 
a  pride  that  won't  permit  it.  Yes,  sir!"  Here  Ike 
slapped  the  table  hard  by  way  of  emphasis.  "  Ain't 
that  la',  Squire  Longbow  ?  "  continued  Ike,  turning 
round  to  the  Squire,  who  was  almost  magnetized  by 
intense  thought. 

The  Squire  gave  two  or  three  ahems  to  clear  his  throat, 
and  his  voice  seemed  a  long  time  on  its  way.  "That," 
said  the  Squire,  "  is  just  what  the  ''mortal  Story  said  ; 
he  never  would  permit  a  man  to  make  a  fool  of  himself; 
he  went  agin  all  such  kind-er  things.  The  'mortal  Story 
said,  if  a  man  don't  know  nothing  he  oughteri-ter  say 
nothiri',  or  do  nothin'.  He  very  specially  said  it  wani't 
a  safe  rule  to  let  crazy  folks  rip  up  things,  'cause  how  do 
we  know,  or  anybody  know,  but  they  are  jist  as  craz}r 
when  they  rip  'em  up,  and  then  they'll  have  to  be  ripped 
over  agin  ;  that's  the  'thority,  sir  —  page  —  let  me  see 
—  but  no  matter  'bout  pages  —  " 

"  And,  secondly,"  continued  Ike,  breaking  into  the* 
Squire,  "it's  a  rule  of  law  that  everybody's  stopped  by 
their  deed  ;  and  if  the  woman  knowed  enough  to  sign 
and  seal  it,  that  'ere  seal  is  an 'everlasting  and  eternal  bar 
to  provin'  anything  agin  it.  That'll  stop  a  crazy  woman  ; 
that's  laid  down  in  all  the  books  since  King  Richard  got 
possession  of  England,  and  the  staterts  are  full  on  it, 
too." 

The  Squire  said  "that  looked  reasonable.  How  do 
we  know  that  Andrew  Jackson  warn't  crazy  when  he 
signed  off  the  patents  for  Puddleford.  That's  an  open 


228  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

question  yet.  And  if  it  warn't  for  the  broad  seal  — 
if  it  warn't  for  that  'ere  spread  eagle  —  some  whig 
President  (arid  the  whigs  allers  did  say  '  Old  Hickory  ; 
was  crazy)  would  set  it  all  aside,  and  throw  all  the 
land  titles  into  hotch-potch,  kick  me  out-er  Louse  and 
home,  and  ruin  all  Puddleford  !  " 

"  Certainly/'  said  I. 

"  And  agin,"  said  Ike,  "  the  woman  warn't  crazy  ;  / 
can  prove  that." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  I.     "  How  ?  " 

11  When  was  the  deed  executed  ?  " 

I  stated. 

"  That's  jest  the  time,"  said  Ike,  "  that  old  covy,  her 
brother-in-law,  used  her  as  a  witness  to  recover  his 
farm." 

The  Squire  said  that  "  the  woman  was  under  oath 
then,  and  she  might  tell  the  truth,  if  she  was  a  little 
shattered." 

"  Th-u-n-der  !  "  exclaimed  Ike. 

"  Witnesses  are  sworn  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  the 
Squire. 

The  Squire  was  evidently  getting  quizzical.  Mr. 
Turtle  begged  "  he  would  not  interrupt  him  agin.  The 
case  was  one  of  great  importance,  and  it  required  a 
power  of  thought  and  research  to  look  inter  it. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Ike,  "  there  are  three  more 
points  of  la'  in  your  case.  You've  got  the  fee  of  this 
'ere  land  —  that  is,  you've  got  a  deed,  and  got  inter 
possession  ;  that  makes  a  fee.  And  as  to  that,  the 
deed  don't  matter  so  much  ;  possession  out  here  is  jest 
as  good.  I  never  see  a  sheriff  who  could  get  a  man  off. 
'Tain't  pop'lar  —  won't  pay — it  costs  votes — men 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  229 

don't  vote  for  officers  who  push  'em  ;  possession  is 
more'n  nine  p'ints  of  the  la'  in  Puddleford  ;  it's  ninety- 
nine  —  it's  'most  as  good  as  a  patent." 

"But  that  would  be  a  resistance  of  process,  if  the 
widow  succeeded,"  said  I. 

"  There  won't  be  nothin'  to  resist,"  answered  Ike. 
"  You'll  never  feel  the  process  ;  it  will  always  be  de- 
fective—  there'll  be  a  flaw  in  it  somewhere.  Settlers 
on  the  silc  must  be  protected." 

"That,"  chimed  in  the  Squire,  "is  la'.  That  was 
settled  in  the  constitution.  There  was  blood  shed  for 
that." 

"  But  there  ain't  no  use,"  continued  Ike,  "  in  gbin'  into 
particulars,  and  puttin'  down  every  p'int  of  la'.  I  can 
scatter  a  thousand  such  cases  to  the  four  winds  —  have 
done  it  —  can  do  it  agin.  Give  me  Kent  and  the 
staterts,  and  I'll  cut  my  way  to  daylight  in  no  time." 

If  there  is  any  one  who  believes  that  such  an  opinion 
was  not  given  for  one  dollar,  or  that  hundreds  have  not 
been  given  in  the  very  far  West  just  as  absurd,  let  them 
inquire  further  of  those  persons  who  have  experienced  a 
frontier  life.  Yet,  Mr.  Turtle  lives  and  flourishes,  gains 
reputation,  and  will  die  as  much  respected  and  lamented 
as  any  one. 


230  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Wilderness  around  Puddleford.  —  The  Rivers  and  the  Forests 

—  Suggestions  of  Old  Times.  —  Footprints  of  the  Jesuits.  —  Vine- 
covered  Mounds. — Visit  to  the  Forest.  —  The    Early  Frost.-- 
The  Forest  Clock.  —  The  Woodland  Harvest.  —  The  Last  Flowers. 

—  Nature   sowing  her  Seed.  —  The  Squirrel  in  the   Hickory.  — 
Pigeons,  their  Ways  and  their  Haunts.  —  The  Butterflies  and  the 
Bullfrog.  —  Nature  and  her  Sermons.  —  Her  Temple  still  open, 
but  the  High-priest  gone. 

PUDDLEFORD  was  a  mere  spot  in  the  wilderness. 
Its  region  abounded  with  patches  of  improved  land, 
and  patches  partly  improved,  and  fields  of  stamps  that 
the  pioneer  had  just  passed  over  with  his  axe.  The 
great  sweep  of  land  around  it,  however,  was  a  wilder- 
ness —  not  a  thicket — not  a  dense  mass  of  timber,  nor 
a  swamp  —  but  a  rolling  plain  of  upland  prairie,  and 
heavily-wooded  flats  along  the  rivers  ;  and  it  extended  no 
one  knew  where,  and  was  covered  with  lakes  and  rivers 
that  shone,  and  roared,  and  babbled,  day  and  night, 
through  the  great  solitude.  The  surface  of  the  upland 
was  as  smooth  and  shaven  as  an  English  park.  No 
undergrowth  obstructed  the  eye,  and  the  outline  of  a 
deer  might  be  discerned  two  miles  distant.  Trees  upon 
the  distant  ground-swells,  amid  their  quivering  shadows, 
appeared  to  be  riding  upon  waves.  In  this  gigantic  park, 
which  overreached  degrees  of  longitude,  flowers  of  every 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  231 

form  and  hue  budded,  blossomed,  faded,  and  died,  from 
May  until  November.  The  prairies  were  so  many  bloom- 
ing seas  ;  and  when  the  soft  south-west  stirred  up  their 
depths,  they  shed  a  gorgeous  light,  as  if  they  were 
breathing  out  rainbow  colors. 

The  rivers  that  watered  this  waste  were  large,  and 
flowed  from  still  deeper  solitudes  towards  the  great  lakes. 
The  sun,  as  ancient  as  they,  rose  and  set  upon  them  now 
as  .it  did  centuries  ago.  The  forests  upon  their  banks 
sprang  up,  flourished,  waxed  old,  and  died  ;  and  still  the 
river  ran,  and  new  forests  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  the  old, 
arid  the  glory  of  the  new  stood  implanted  in  the  grave  of 
the  old.  The  bison,  moose,  and  bear  drank  from  the 
sources  of  these  rivers,  driven  upward  by  the  noise  of 
civilization.  But  they  had  an  interest  to  me  beyond  all 
this  :  they  were  the  inlets  to  Christian  missionaries  more 
than  a  century  ago.  It  was  up  these  streams  that  the 
French  Jesuit,*  with  his  eye  aloft,  and  the  cross  erect, 
paddled  his  solitary  canoe  among  the  aborigines.  Here 
he  built  his  camp-fire  beneath  the  stars,  and  told  his 
rosary  in  the  awful  presence  of  his  God  —  how  awful, 
indeed,  in  such  a  spot,  at  such  a  time  !  We  can  almost 
see  the  venerable  man,  and  hear  the  dip  of  his  oar  ;  the 
water-fowl  scream,  scared,  and  dive  along  before  him, 
and  the  Indian  stands  upon  the  bank  in  his  presence, 
like  a  monument  in  wonder. 

The  footprints  of  the  Jesuits  are  still  found  upon  the 
bluffs  of  these  rivers.  Mounds,  which  were  thrown  by 
them  into  square  and  circular  forms,  now  roofless  and 
silent,  and  matted  all  over  with  vines,  still  bear  witness 

*  Father  Hcnnepin  and  others. 


232  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

to  their  devotion.  Yet  how  little  is  thought  of  them 
now  !  Because  the  Jesuits  did  not  till  the  earth,  and 
sow,  and  reap,  and  swell  the  commerce  of  the  world  : 
but  didn't  they  sow  ?  They  sowed  the  seeds  of  everlast- 
ing life  among  the  simple  children  of  the  forest ;  and  they 
have  sown  from  age  to  age  since,  and  many  an  Indian 
still  offers  the  prayer  which  was  taught  his  forefathers  so 
long  ago. 

Such,  reader,  were  the  woods  around  Puddleford,  and 
such  the  associations.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  going  down 
into  their  depths,  and  scraping  acquaintance  with  the 
inhabitants.  It  was  a  relief  to  me.  I  sometimes  even 
went  so  far  as  to  set  myself  up  as  a  sportsman.  I  made  a 
special  visit,  just  after  the  first  frost,  for  the  purpose  of 
spying  out  the  game.  The  morning  was  still  and  bright, 
and  the  dash  of  a  distant  rivulet,  which  I  could  step  across, 
filled  the  "  long  drawn  aisles  "  with  its  echoes.  I  had 
been  down  often  during  the  summer,  but  every  object 
looked  strangely  different  now.  The  first  frost  had  given 
Nature  a  shock — a  kind  of  palsy;  she  looked  serene, 
almost  sad.  Its  inmates  had  gadded  about  during  the 
summer  in  a  very  reckless  way  ;  they  looked  more  sober 
after  the  first  frost  —  more  thoughtful  —  more  anxious 
about  something. 

It  was  late  in  September,  and  yet  "  the  storms  of  the 
wild  Equinox,  with  all  its  wet/'  had  not  come.  It  was  due 
and  over-due.  Amid  the  more  hardy  foliage  the  first 
frost  had  drawn  his  brush  in  the  most  delicate  way  possi- 
ble—  a  mere  tinge,  and  no  more  —  a  kind  of  autumnal 
hint.  There  was  one  limb  of  an  oak  just  changing,  and 
the  balance  of  the  tree  stood  up  as  bravely  and  defiant  as 
ever  ;  the  soft  maple  was  completely  dipped  —  it  blazed  ; 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  233 

the  aspen  trembled  and  glowed ;  the  hickory  was  only 
touched,  and  still  hesitated  about  her  full  suit  of  yellow; 
while  the  dog-wood  and  spice  bush  had  entirely  given  up 
the  ghost. 

It  was  just  after  the  first  frost,  so  I  went  down  to  the 
banks  of  the  rivulet  that  had  so  long  been  singing  its 
woodland  psalm.  It  came  from  away  off  somewhere,  and 
strayed,  and  dove  over  precipices,  and  spread  into  min- 
iature lakes  ;  but,  where  I  stood,  it  tumbled  through  a 
gorge  with  green,  sloping  banks.  As  I  gazed,  the  sun 
waxed  higher  and  warmer.  Day  wore  its  way  up  the 
gorge,  and  literally  struck  a  sisterhood  of  frosted  sumachs, 
and  they  turned  blood-red  ;  I  thought  I  saw  them  shift 
their  summer  dress. 

Near  by,  a  vine  circled  a  tree,  and  swung  out  from  its 
top.  I  had  noticed  it  many  times  before  during  the 
season.  It  was  then  hung  with  large-mouthed  flowers, 
which  opened  with  the  morning.  Was  it  a  summer  chime 
of  bells  that  tolled  the  sunlight  into  the  temple?  —  the 
forest  clock,  that  opened  and  shut  the  hours  ?  The  bells 
were  broken  now  ;  the  first  frost  had  cracked  them.  I 
saw  a  bird,  dressed  in  blue,  run  up  the  vine,  and  hitch 
along  in  a  very  deliberate  way,  and  peer  into  this  bell 
arid  into  that,  as  if  he  wondered  why  they  did  not  spread  ; 
but  this  might  have  been  an  odd  fancy  of  mine. 

The  first  frost  seemed  to  have  passed  through  the  tree- 
tops  that  rolled  over  the  gorge  in  a  hurry.  The  promi- 
nent points  of  the  foliage  were  tufted  with  russet,  but  itr> 
hollows  and  dells  were  as  green  as  ever. 

The  woodland  harvest  was  nigh  —  the  Creator's  own 
harvest,  sown  and  reaped  without  the  aid  of  man.  The 
pawpaw  began  to  shed  its  fruit ;  mandrakes  stood  up  all 


234  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

over  the  forest,  like  umbrellas  loaded  with  apples  of 
gold ;  the  wild  cucumber  was  bending  under  its  own 
weight ;  the  bark  of  the  hickory  and  beech  nut  was 
broken,  and  the  fruit  peeped  out ;  acorns  were  loosening 
in  their  cups  ;  the  grape  was  purple  and  fragrant,  arid 
ready  to  gush  with  richness  ;  and  away  down  below  me 
I  noticed  a  crabbed,  sour-looking  plum  tree,  holding  on 
to  the  hill-side  with  all  its  energy,  and  covered  with  its 
rosy-cheeked  children. 

A  few  flowers  yet  lingered  on  the  upland,  breathing 
their  last.  The  pink,  violet,  lupine,  and  a  thousand  name- 
less ones,  had  shed  and  buried  their  seeds  long  before  ; 
but  the  flaming,  cardinal-fringed  gentian,  the  yellow 
moccasin,  and  troops  of  lilies,  still  crowded  the  swales 
and  watercourses,  braving  out  the  first  frost.  Insects 
were  singing  a  melancholy  dirge  around  me ;  a  bee 
droned  past  in  great  haste,  with  a  consequential  hum  ; 
the  year  was  passing  and  dying,  like  a  vibration  over  the 
earth. 

The  air  was  filled  with  winged  seeds,  sailing  away  off 
here  and  away  off  there,  and  going  I  do  not  know 
where.  The  wild  cotton  burst  its  pod,  and  furred  out 
at  a  great  rate  ;  a  large  company  of  thistle  balloons 
rolled  up  lazily  into  the  sky,  and  went  out  of  sight  (to 
the  stars,  probably),  directed  by  some  invisible  hand  to 
the  place  of  their  destination.  Birds  were  picking  and 
carrying  clusters  of  grapes  and  s'coke  far  and  wide. 
How  beautifully  Nature  sows  her  solemn  wastes  !  The 
winds  and  the  birds  are  her  husbandmen,  and  the  work 
goes  on  with  a  song. 

There  was  a  bustle  in  a  hickory  —  a  black  squirrel  was 
flirting  about,  and  making  an  examination  of  the  crop. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  235 

He  had  come  early  into  the  harvest-field.  He  ran  up 
and  down  the  branches,  nipped  the  nuts,  jumped  upon 
his  haunches,  thought  a  while,  chattered  to  himself,  and 
said  —  or  I  thought  he  said —  "  Little  too  soon  "  —  "  Lit- 
tle too  soon  "  —  "  Come  again  "  —  "  Come  again. "  At 
a  distance,  a  male  partridge,  with  his  tail  curved  like  a 
fan,  and  his  feathers  erect,  was  blustering  and  strutting 
around  with  great  pomp,  as  consequential  as  a  Broadway 
fop  —  a  rabbit,  crouched  in  a  heap,  sat  off  timidly  under 
an  upturned  root,  eating  a  pawpaw  —  a  lonely  snipe 
came  tetering  up  the  rivulet  —  a  robin  lit  upon  a  scoke- 
bush,  picked  a  berry  or  two,  whistled,  took  a  kind  of  last 
look,  and  departed  ;  a  little  bird,  as  rich  as  sunset,  next 
startled  me  with  a  stream  of  lire,  which  he  wove  through 
the  green  foliage,  as  if  he  were  tying  it  up  with  a  blazing 
cord  ;  a  sanctimonious  crow  floated  in  circles  in  the  air, 
and  screamed  very  savagely  to  things  below  him,  like  a 
preacher  in  a  passion  ;  and  I  heard  turkeys  clucking  and 
calling  to  each  other  in  every  direction. 

Suddenly,  a  flock  of  pigeons  broke  the  few  bars  of 
light  that  were  struggling  down,  and  wheeled  to  a  dry 
limb,  at  a  respectful  distance;  they  ranged  themselves  in 
rows  like  platoons  of  soldiers,  and  bowed  forwards  and 
sideways,  in  a  very  polite,  diplomatic  way.  A  few- 
words  passed  between  them  —  (pigeons  don't  talk  much) 
—  exchanging,  no  doubt,  opinions  of  me  and  my  where- 
abouts. By  and  by,  one  spread  his  wings  and  fluttered 
to  the  ground,  and  began  feeding  —  then  another,  and 
another,  until  the  whole  flock  descended,  except  three 
sentinels,  who  remained  posted  to  watch  and  guard.  I 
knew  them  well.  There  was  a  "  roost "  in  a  tamarack 
swamp,  some  miles  distant.  Not  long  before,  I  had 


236  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

visited  their  noisy  metropolis.  It  was  at  the  close  of 
day,  and  its  evergreen  canopy  was  half-dipped  in  light. 
I  recollected  what  hosts  came  thronging  in,  on  all  sides, 
roaring  like  a  tempest,  and  how  they  piled  themselves 
upon  the  top  of  each  other  upon  the  boughs  like  swarm- 
ing bees  —  and  how  all  night  the  trees  bent  and  cracked 
with  the  crowded  population,  who  seemed  continually 
treading  upon  each  other's  toes,  and  tumbling  each 
other's  beds  —  and  how,  when  the  day  dawned,  they  all 
dissolved,  and  winged  their  way  to  the  plains,  and  the 
troubled  city  was  as  silent  as  fallen  Babylon. 

I  like  the  pigeon.  lie  has  a  business-way,  and  a  way 
of  minding  his  own  business.  He  is  always  doing  some- 
thing. Who  ever  saw  a  pigeon  trifle  or  frolic,  or  put  on 
airs  ?  He  is  the  clipper  of  the  skies'  air-line.  Eight 
hundred  miles  a  day,  few  stoppages,  and  no  bursting  of 
boilers.  Pie  is  a  practical  bird  —  no  such  dreamy,  twi- 
light sort  of  a  thing  as  the  whippoorwill,  who  is  for- 
ever complaining  about  nothing,  like  a  miserable  rhyme- 
ster—  whir  —  whir  —  whir.  "  Ah  !  you  are  going.  Pay 
my  respects  to  the  alligators  among  the  rice  swamps  of 
Florida/'  said  I,  "  when- you  see  them  next  winter." 

The  pigeons  were  started  by  the  bay  of  hounds.  By 
their  voice,  the  hounds  had  probably  been  on  the  chase 
during  most  of  the  night  —  (it  was  a  weary  voice  and 
almost  painful)  —  and  I  soon  discovered  that  they  were 
approaching.  Soon  a  drove  of  deer,  led  forward  by  a 
noble  buck,  carrying  antlers  like  tree-branches,  came 
crashing  by,  leaped  the  ravine,  and  were  soon  followed  by 
their  pursuers,  arid  I  watched  them  afar  over  the  plain 
until  they  were  lost.  I  knew  the  dogs.  They  belonged 
to  Venison  Styles.  But  where  was  Venison  ?  I  could 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  231 

see  the  old  hunter,  in  my  imagination,  standing  away  otF 
on  some  "  run-way/'  listening  to  the  strife  around  him, 
arid  watching  for  his  victims. 

Perhaps  you  know,  and  perhaps  you  don't  know, 
reader,  that  deer,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  have 
"  run-ways  "  —  that  they  have  great  Ti^/iways  —  thor- 
oughfares that  follow  mountains,  thread  morasses,  cross 
lakes  and  streams,  up  and  down  which  they  travel.  I 
cannot  say  who  first  laid  them  out.  It  may  be  they  can 
tell.  If  I  ever  find  out,  I  will  let  you  know. 

I  was  next  overhauled  by  a  fleet  of  white  butterflies, 
who  came  winding  down  the  brook  in  a  very  loitering 
sort  of  a  way.  They  anchored  in  front  of  me,  near  the 
water's  edge,  and  amused  themselves  by  opening  and 
shutting  their  huge  sails  —  huge  for  butterflies.  Their 
wings  were  all  bedropped  with  gold,  and  powdered  with 
silver  dust.  Then  another  fleet,  arrayed  in  chocolate 
velvet,  came  up  the  stream.  They  were  large  and  showy. 
Their  chocolate  wings  were  ribbed  with  lines  of  blue  and 
green ;  and  a  few  plain,  yellow  plebeians  followed  on 
after,  train-bearers,  probably,  to  their  lordly  superiors. 
What  brush  touched  those  rich  and  delicate  wings  ? 
What  alchemist  wrought  those  magical  colors  ?  Who 
put  on  those  gorgeous  uniforms  ?  Were  they  equipped 
for  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  world,  or  their  own  ? 
For  what  purpose  was  this  winged  mystery  sent  upon 
the  earth  ?  Just  here  a  large  frog,  who  had  been  sitting 
on  a  stone  near  the  water,  wrapped  up  to  his  eyes  in 
his  green  surtout,  looking  as  taciturn  and  gloomy  as  the 
Pope,  went  down  with  a  "jug-a-ro,"  and  spoiled  my 
reflections. 

It  was  just  after  the  first  frost,  and   the  wasps   were 


238  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

hard  at  work,  preparing-,  or  repairing  their  mansions  for 
winter.  The  mason-wasp,  as  he  is  called,  was  digging 
up  the  mud,  which  he  carried  to  a  hollow  log,  where  he 
lived.  He  was  "  plastering  up  a  little. "  The  "paper- 
wasp  "  was  gathering  wild  cotton  and  flax,  and  manu- . 
facturing  it,  for  his  palace  that  hung,  half  furnished, 
swinging  in  a  tree  like  a  top.  Strange  that  man  should 
have  so  long  remained  without  the  secret  of  making 
paper  —  when  the  wasp  had  made  and  hung  it  up  high 
before  his  eyes,  for  so  many  thousand  years  ! 

Thus,  reader,  the  great  wilderness  was  alive  —  and 
away  down  the  chain  of  animated  being,  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  eye  or  ear,  there  was  life  —  busy  life  — 
all  links  in  a  great  chain  held  and  electrified  by  the  hand 
of  the  Almighty. 

What  sermons  there  were  all  around  me  —  Nature 
preaching  through  her  works  !  What  cathedral  like  this, 
with  its  living  pillars — its  dome  of  sun,  and  moon,  and 
stars  ?  Morn  swings  back  its  portals  with  light  and 
song,  and  evening  gently  closes  them  again  amid  her 
deepening  shadows  —  and  the  worship  arid  work  goes 
on  like  the  swell  of  an  anthem;  but  the  great  high-priest 
that  worshipped  at  its  altars,  and  burnt  incense  to  .the 
spirit  that  pervades  this  solitude,  where  is  he  ?  Where 
are  his  fires  now  ?  The  temple  still  stands,  and  the 
anthem  is  still  heard,  but  the  worshippers  are  gone 
"  Lo  1  the  poor  Indian." 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  230 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Old  Neu  England  Home.  —The  Sheltered  Village.  —The  An- 
cient Buildings.  —  Dormer  Windows.  —  An  Old  Puritanical  Home. 
—  The  Old  Puritan  Church. — The  Burying- Ground.  —  Deacon 
Smith,  his  Habits  and  his  Helpers.  —  Major  Simeon  Giles,  his 
Mansion  and  his  Ancestry.  —  Old  Doctor  Styles.  —  Crapo  Jackson, 
the  Sexton.  —  "Training  Days."  —  Militia  Dignitaries. —  Major 
Boles.  —  Major  General  Peabody.  —  Preparations  and  Achieve- 
ments. —  Demolition  of  an  Apple  Cart.  —  "  Shoulder  Arms  !  "  — 
Colonel  Asher  Peabody.  —  The  Boys,  and  their  World.  —  My  Last 
Look  at  my  Native  Village. 

T3>EADER,  there  are  mental  pictures  in  the  wilderness, 
••-^  as  vivid  as  any  in  nature.  They  are  the  pictures  of 
the  past.  They  haunt  the  pioneer  by  day  and  by  night. 
They  go  with  him  over  ^he  fields  —  sit  down  with  him 
by  the  streams  —  linger  around  his  evening  hearth,  and 
rise  up  in  his  dreams. 

I  was  born  in  New  England.  The  village  was  very 
old,  and  had  received  and  discharged  generations  of  men. 
Some  two  centuries  ago,  a  troop  of  iron-sided  old  pil- 
grims, full  of  theology  and  man's  rights,  an  offshoot  of 
a  larger  body,  with  their  pastor  at  their  head,  founded 
the  place,  and  gave  it  tone  and  direction. 

This  village  is  very  beautiful  now.  It  stands  shel- 
tered between  two  mountains  that  cast  their  morning  and 
evening  shadows  over  it.  A  long  stretch  of  meadow 
land  lies  between,  through  which  a  river,  fringed  with 


240  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

willows,  lazily  lingers  and  twists  in  elbows  and  half 
circles.  The  mountains  sometimes  look  down  very  grim 
at  the  valley,  and  in  places  have  advanced  almost  across 
it.  There  are  a  great  many  profiles  detected  by  the 
imagination  in  their  outline.  Cotton  Mather's  face  has 
been  discovered  in  one  huge  rock  —  and  the  old  fellow's 
head  seems  to  withstand  the  storms  of  nature  about  as 
successfully  as  it  did  the  storms  of  life.  The  "  Devil's 
Pulpit  "  —  a  group  of  splintered  shafts  of  Gothic  appear- 
ance —  is  near  by,  and  superstitious  persons  used  to 
think  that  during  every  thunder-storm  his  majesty  en- 
tered it,  arrayed  in  garments  of  fire,  and  gave  the  Puri- 
tan a  sound  lecture. 

There  are  all  kinds  of  buildings  in  this  village.  These 
buildings  mark  the  age  in  which  they  were  erected,  and 
are  the  real  monuments  of  their  founders.  They  are  as 
they  were.  They  have  not  been  marred  or  profaned  by 
modern  notions.  Some  are  very  eccentric  piles,  hoary 
with  age,  full  of  angles  and  sharp  corners  ;  and  some  are 
painfully  plain  and  severe.  They  all  have  a  face,  a  cast 
of  countenance,  an  expression  —  they  almost  talk  the 
English  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  The  row  of 
dormer  windows  on  the  roof  are  to  me  great  eyes  that 
frown  down  upon  the  frivolity  and  thoughtlessness  of  the 
present  —  and  those  eyes  are  full  of  theology  and  civil 
rights.  They  look  as  though  they  were  watching  a 
Quaker,  or  reading  the  Stamp  Act.  The  very  souls  of 
their  architects  are  transferred  to  them.  I  never  enter 
one,  even  in  these  fearless  times,  without  feeling  nervous 
and  sober,  half  expecting  to  run  afoul  of  its  original  pro- 
prietor, with  some  interrogatory  about  my  business,  ar  & 
the  wickedness  of  his  descendants. 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  241 

There  used  to  stand  —  there  is  still  standing  —  one  of 
tl  ese  queer  piles  upon  a  bluff  overlooking  the  river.  It 
was  built  of  stone,  and  is  very  much  moss-grown.  It 
fairly  looks  daggers  at  the  ambitious  little  structures  that 
have  sprouted  up  by  its  side.  It  is  a  heap  of  Puritanical 
thoughts  —  visible  thoughts  —  all  hardened  into  wood 
and  rock.  There  it  has  stood,  frowning  and  frowning, 
for  a  century  and  a  half.  It  is  full  of  great  massive 
timbers  and  stones,  and  is  as  stout  as  the  heart  of  its 
founder.  A  weather-cock  is  attached  to  one  of  the  chim- 
neys—  .a  sheet-iron  arigel,  lying  on  his  breast,  and  blow- 
ing a  trumpet,  and  the  wind  shifts  him  round  and  round 
Over  different  parts  of  the  village.  This  angel  has  blown 
away  thousands  of  men  ;  but  there  he  lies,  his  cheeks 
puffed,  blowing  yet,  as  fresh  and  healthy  as  ever. 

The  internal  arrangement  of  this  building  is  character- 
istic. A  dark,  gloomy  hall  —  an  enormous  fireplace, 
extending  across  the  whole  end  of  a  room  —  a  quaint 
pair  of  andirons,  which  run  up  very  high  and  prim,  and 
turn  back  like  a  hook,  with  a  dog's  head  growling  on 
each  tip.  There  are  strange  pictures  on  the  walls,  which 
have  been  preserved  in  memory  of  the  past  —  Mose& 
leading  the  Children  of  Israel  through  the  Wilderness  — 
Sarnson  slaying  the  Lion  —  David  cutting  off  the  head 
of  Goliath  —  stern  shadows  of  the  men  who  used  to 
study  them  —  not  very  remarkable  works  of  art,  but 
vivid  outlines  of  the  scenes  themselves. 

This  house  has  been  occupied  by  an  illustrious  line  of 
men,  distinguished  as  divines,  lawyers,  and  reformers  ; 
and  it  seems  to  glow  with  the  fires  they  kindled  in  it  — 
in  fact,  I  believe  it  is  inhabited  by  them  yet.  I  believe 

that  Parson ,  who  lived  under  its  roof  for  more  than 

16 


212  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

half  a  century,  and  preached  during  that  time  in  the 
church  near  by,  occasionally  mounts  his  low-crowned, 
broad-brimmed  hat,  round-cornered  coat,  short  breeches, 
knee-buckles,  and  heavy  shoes,  ties  on  his  white  neck- 
cloth, and  takes  his  cane,  and,  in  a  spiritual  wa}r,  wanders 
back  to  his  mansion,  sits  down  again  before  the  capacious 
fireplace,  and  meditates  an  hour  or  two  as  he  used  to  do 
in  life,  lie  is  one  of  those  who  keep  the  house  company, 
and  give  to  it  its  sober  air  of  determination  and  defiance. 

The  old  Puritan  church  stands  near  by.  Time  has 
thrown  a  mantle  of  moss  over  it.  When  erected,  it  was 
shingled  from  foundation  to  steeple  — and  a  quaint  little 
pepper-box  steeple  it  was.  Square,  high,  solemn-looking 
pews  may  be  }Tet  seen  inside.  The  pulpit  is  perched 
away  up  under  the  eaves,  like  a  swallow's  nest.  It  is 
reached  by  a  flight  of  steps  almost  as  long  as  Jacob's 
ladder.  It  is  covered  with  names,  inscriptions  written  by 
men  and  women  who  were  dust  long  ago.  It  looks  like 
the  place  where  "  Old  Hundred  ?;  was  born,  lived,  and 
died  —  sombre,  earnest,  immovable. 

A  burying-ground,  ancient  as  the  church,  closes  in 
on  its  three  sides,  and  partly  encircles  it  in  its  arms. 
There  is  preaching  there  yet.  The  dust  of  the  living 
arid  dead  congregations  are  one  : 

"  Peart  of  the  host  have  crossed  the  flood, 
And  part  are  crossing  now." 

Rough  tombstones  —  mere  ragged  slugs,  torn  from 
some  quarry  —  rounded  and  smoothed  a  little  by  a  pious 
hand  —  stand  half  buried  in  the  earth,  pointing  to  the 
silent  sleeper  below.  And  then  there  are  marble  slabs, 
of  a  more  modern  date  —  yet  very  old  —  leaning  this 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  243 

way  and  that,  and  nodding  at  each  other.  Preachers  and 
congregations  lie  side  by  side,  and  it  is  one  eternal  Sab- 
bath now.  There  are  quaint  pictures,  and  holy  pictures, 
and  horrible  pictures  chiselled  out  on  these  slabs.  Skele- 
ton Death,  triumphantly  marching  with  his  scythe  ! 
Skulls,  angels —  and  occasionally  a  figure  that  looks  like 
his  Satanic  Majesty  !  Epitaphs  full  of  theology,  wit, 
and  practical  wisdom,  are  strewn  around  with  an  unspar- 
ing hand. 

There  are  a  few  genuine  specimens  of  the  Puritan  stock 
lingering  in  this  village  —  great  boulders  that  lie  around 
in  society,  like  granite  blocks  on  the  earth,  dropped  by 
Time  in  his  flight,  and  overlooked  or  forgotten.  Deacon 
Smith  is  one.  of  them.  He  and  his  father,  and  his  father's 
father,  were  born  and  lived  in  the  house  he  now  occupies. 
He  has  almost  reached  fourscore  and  ten  years.  He 
wears  the  costume  of  'seventy-six,  inside  and  out.  His 
habits  are  as  uniform  and  regular  as  the  swing  of  the 
pendulum.  He  retires  at  nine,  rises  at  four,  breakfasts 
at  six,  and  dines  at  twelve  ;  and  this  is  done  to  a  fraction 
—  no  allowance  is  made  for  circumstances  —  what  are  cir- 
cumstances in  the  way  of  one  of  his  rules?  He  marches  to 
bed  at  the  time,  and  would,  if  he  left  the  President  of  the 
Eepublic  behind  him  —  he  sits  down  to  his  table  at  the  time, 
whether  there  is  a  dish  on  it  or  not.  Law  is  law  with  him. 

The  Deacon  hates  royalty  and  the  British — he  never 
overlooked  the  blood  they  shed  in  the  Revolution.  He 
seldom  speaks  to  an  Englishman.  He  hates  interlopers, 
innovations,  modern  improvements ;  and  I  recollect  well 
how  he  poured  out  his  vials  of  wrath  upon  the  first  buggy 
wagon  that  he  saw.  He  said  it  was  a  "  very  nice  thing 
to  sleep  in."  He  left  the  church  for  some  months  when 


244  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

stoves  were  first  put  up,  and  declared  that  it  was  "  as 
great  a  sacrilege  as  was  ever  committed,  and  enough  to 
overthrow  the  piety  of  a  saint.  Religion  would  keep  a 
man  warm  anywhere/'  lie  says  he  "  thinks  the  Puritan 
blood  is  running  down  into  slops  !  folks  are  rushing  head- 
long to  perdition  !  that  there  hasn't  been  a  man  in  the 
village  for  twenty  years  who  ought  to  be  intrusted  with 
himself —  arid  it  seems  to  him  that  the  world  is  winding 
up  business. 

When  the  Deacon  rises,  he  goes  around  his  house,  hawk- 
ing, spitting,  slamming  doors,  tumbling  down  wood,  just 
to  cast  a  slur  on  the  lazy  habits  of  modern  days.  Some- 
times he  tramps  up  and  down  the  village,  two  hours 
before  day,  a-hcmming,  hawing,  and  sneezing,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  letting  the  sluggards  understand  he  is  stirring. 
He  has  been  known,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  to  give 
vent  to  his  feelings,  at  this  early  hour,  by  blowing  the 
family  dinner-horn,  and  declaring,  as  the  blast  echoed 
away,  "  that  no  Christian  man  could  sleep,  after  such  a 
call.77 

The  Deacon  has  a  few  helpers  about  him,  who  think  as 
he  thinks  —  but  they  are  very  few.  When  they  meet, 
the  world  takes  a  most  inhuman  raking  —  they  spare 
neither  "age,  sex,  nor  condition. " 

But  the  leading  business  men  of  the  village  are  of  a 
different  stamp  —  not  Puritans,  but  Puritanical — the 
same  rock  with  the  corners  knocked  off —  of  less  strength, 
but  more  polish.  They  reverence  their  fathers,  keep  the 
religious  and  political  altar  they  have  raised  burning,  but 
are  not  so  regardless  of  temporal  comforts  ;  in  a  word, 
they  are  Yankees. 

Major   Simeon   Giles   is  a  specimen.     It  is  difficult  to 


HUMORS   OF  THE  WEST.  245 

draw  his  portrait.  He  has  a  hard,  dry  face,  which  looks 
as  though  it  had  been  turned  out  from  a  seasoned  white- 
oak  knot.  He  wears  a  grievous  expression,  lying  some- 
where between  sobriety  and  melancholy.  His  money, 
character,  and  family  have  made  him  a  great  man  —  he  is 
a  leading  personage  in  church  and  state,  and  exercises  a 
wonderful  influence  in  every  department  of  society.  The 
deacon  is  full  of  dry  expressions,  and  many  of  his  cool, 
sly  remarks  have  become  proverbs  ;  but  the  hardest  thing 
he  ever  said  was  after  his  pious  soul  had  been  very  much 
vexed,  when  he  observed,  "  that  if  Providence  should  see 

fit  to  remove  Mr. from  this  vale  of  tears,  he  would 

endeavor  to  resign  himself  to  the  stroke. " 

Major  Simeon  has  many  severe  struggles  within  him, 
between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit.  His  avarice  and  piety 
are  both  strong,  and  the  former  sometimes  gains  a  tem- 
porary advantage.  All  his  movements  are  governed  by 
method.  He  remains  so  long  at  his  store,  so  long  at  his 
house,  ''takes  a  journey  "  with  his  family  once  a  year, 
"  has  a  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in  its  place/' 
—  a  peg  for  his  hat,  a  corner  for  his  boots  —  and  he  is 
almost  as  rigid  in  observing  and  enforcing  his  laws  as 
Deacon  Smith. 

Major  Simeon  is  supreme,  of  course,  over  his  own 
family.  He  never  trifles  with  his  children.  A  cold 
shadow  falls  around  him,  which  often  silences  their  voice 
of  mirth  and  ringing  laugh  —  the  effect  of  reverence, 
however,  more  than  fear. 

Major  Giles  lives  in  the  Old  Giles  Mansion.  I  will 
not  pretend  to  say  how  many  Gileses  have  occupied  it. 
Their  portraits  are  hanging  upon  its  walls,  and  their  bodies 
lie  in  the  burying-ground  ;  a  long  row  of  them,  all  the 


246  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

way  across  it,  and  half  back  again  —  bud,  blossom,  and 
gathered  fruit.  There  is  the  portrait  of  the  celebrated 
Elriathan  Giles,  who  died  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne. 
He  looks  very  stern.  .He  had  passed  through  the  scenes 
of  the  Salem  witchcraft,  and  had  been  personally  con- 
nected with  the  excitement  —  had  attended  several  of  the 
trials  as  a  witness  ;  was  bewitched  once  himself — and, 
according  to  family  tradition,  saw  one  witch  hung  —  an 
out-and-out  witch  —  who  had  bridled  many  innocent  peo- 
ple at  midnight,  sailed  through  chamber  windows,  and 
hurry-scurried  off  with  them,  astride  a  broomstick. 

Next  to  him  hangs  the  face  of  his  son,  Colonel  Ethcl- 
bert,  as  he  was  called,  who  lived  just  long  enough  to 
fight  at  Bunker  Hill.  He  had  been  a  militia  colonel 
before  the  Revolution,  and  militia  colonels  were  something 
in  those  days.  He  made  a  ferocious-looking  portrait, 
certainly.  One  can  almost  smell  gunpowder  in  the  room. 
lie  is  dressed  up  in  his  military  coat,  standing  collar,  an 
epaulet  on  his  shoulder ;  and  there  are  strewn  around 
him,  in  the  background,  armies,  artillery,  drums,  and  ban- 
ners. No  wonder  the  Americans  were  victorious.  And 
then  came  the  face  of  Major  Simeon, whom  I  have  described. 

The  wives  of  these  men  are  also  done  up  in  oil,  and 
hang  meekly  and  submissively  by  the  side  of  their  lords, 
as  all  wives  should,  or  rather  as  all  wives  did,  in  those 
days  —  and  actually  died  without  knowing  how  much 
they  were  oppressed. 

There  are  other  things  besides  portraits,  to  remind 
Major  Simeon  of  his  ancestry.  There  is  a  tree  still 
standing  (strange  that  a  tree  should  outlive  generations 
of  men),  that  Elnathan  planted  with  his  own  hand,  on  the 
day  Ethelbert  was  born  —  a  stately  elm,  whose  branches, 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  247 

in  their  magnificent  curve,  almost  sweep  the  ground. 
This  tree  shadowed  the  cold  face  of  both  Elnathan  and 
Ethelbert,  when  their  coffins  were  closed  for  the  last  time 
beneath  it.  There  is  the  spring,  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury old,  that  bubbles  from  the  hill,  and  goes  trickling, 
leaping,  and  flashing  down  the  green  slope,  singing  away 
to  itself  as  sweetly  as  ever.  The  old  lilac-bush,  too,  has 
outlived  thousands  whose  hands  have  plucked  its  blos- 
soms, and  yet  it  bursts  out  in  the  spring,  and  looks  as 
fresh  as  the  children  who  play  beneath  it. 

It  has  been  thought  that  Major  Simeon  and  his  family 
were  aristocratic.  There  is  a  stately  air  about  them, 
when  they  enter  church,  that  smacks  of  blood.  And  the 
Major  himself  has  often  declared  that,  while  "  stock  isn't 
everything,  it  is  a  great  consolation  to  know,  in  his  case, 
that  the  name  of  Giles  has  never  been  stained." 

There  are  several  other  families  in  the  village  whose 
ancestry  runs  back  as  far  as  the  Gileses' ;  and  they  have 
about  them  as  many  heirlooms  to  remind  them  of  it. 

The  village  is  filled  with  other  characters,  quite  as 
original  as  any  I  have  described.  They  are  important 
personages,  and  have  lived  in  it  a  long  time  ;  but  they 
have  no  family  history  to  fall  back  upon.  There  is  Major 
Follett,  who  still  lingers  on  the  shores  of  time,  and  sus- 
tains a  vast  dignity  amid  his  declining  years.  His  head 
is  very  white,  his  hat  very  sleek,  and  his  silk  vest  is  piled 
very  full  of  ruffles.  He  carries  a  gold-headed  cane,  and 
when  he  marches  through  the  streets,  it  rises  and  falls 
with  great  emphasis,  in  harmony  with  his  right  foot. 
Now  and  then  he  gives  out  an  a-hem  !  —  one  of  the  lordly 
kind  —  that  fairly  awes  down  his  inferiors.  He  is  a 
remarkable  talker,  too,  among  his  equals  —  uses  words 


248  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

having  a  great  many  syllables.  He  never  spits,  but  "  ex- 
pectorates " — his  pains  are  all  "paroxysms"  —  talks 
about  the  "  foreshadowing  of  events"  —  and  all  his  pe- 
riods are  as  round  and  stately  as  the  march  of  a  Roman 
army.  The  Major  has  actually  made  his  assumed  dignity 
pave  his  way  in  life  —  it  has  given  him  wealth  and  influ- 
ence among  those  who  are  intrinsically  his  superiors,  but 
who  do  not  know  how  to  put  on  the  airs  of  consequence. 

Old  Doctor  Styles  is  living  yet.  He  has  survived 
two  or  three  crops  of  customers  —  helped  them  in  and 
out  of  the  world  —  balanced  their  accounts  —  and 
his  face  is  as  ruddy,  his  laugh  as  hearty,  his  stories  as 
ludicrous,  his  nose  as  full  of  snuff,  as  though  nothing 
melancholy  had  ever  happened  in  his  practice.  Eighty 
odd  and  more,  he  stands  as  straight  as  a  staff.  Death 
has  been  so  long  a  business  with  him,  and  he  has  stared 
it  for  so  many  years  in  the  face,  that  he  really  does  not 
know,  or  care,  how  near  he  is  to  it  himself. 

Crapo  Jackson,  the  sexton,  is  one  of  the  characters. 
He  has  announced  the  end  of  Doctor  Styles's  labor  a  great 
many  hundred  times  through  the  belfry,  and  helped  cover 
up  what  remained.  Crapo  is  black,  but  he  has  a  fine 
heart.  He  is  a  perfect  master  of  his  work.  He  puts  on 
an  air  of  melancholy  and  circumspection  at  a  funeral,  that 
becomes  the  occasion.  lie  sings,  from  door  to  door,  a 
hymn  on  Christmas  mornings,  with  cap  in  hand  extended 
for  his  "quarter" — peddles  gingerbread  on  training 
days  —  and  aids  the  female  portion  of  the  community  on 
festival  occasions,  and  does  a  great  many  more  things, 
"  too  numerous  to  mention." 

Speaking  of  "  training  days  "  —  dear  me  !  —  there 
used  to  be  a  military  spirit  in  this  village,  in  times  past. 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  249 

I  can  recollect  the  names  of  scores  of  generals,  majors, 
colonels,  captains,  and  even  corporals — ryes,  corporals 
—  every  man  couldn't  be_  a  corporal  in  those  times. 
Why,  bless  your  soul,  reader !  there  was  General  Pea- 
body,  and  General  Jones,  and  Major  Goodwin,  and  Major 
Boles,  and  any  quantity  of  colonels.  And  then  "train- 
ing day  "  —  nobody  worked  —  the  village  was  upside 
down  —  "  ' Seventy-six"  was  in  command,  and  martial  law 
declared. 

Major  Boles  I  recollect,  when  in  the  active  discharge 
of  his  duty.  He  always  grew  serious  as  the  great  mili- 
tia muster  drew  on.  He  went  away  off  by  himself,  into 
the  chamber,  where  he  could  be  alone  with  the  spirits  of 
his  forefathers,  and  burnished  up  his  sword,  shook  out 
the  dust  from  his  regimentals  —  warned  his  children  to 
stand  out  of  the  way — and  looked  ferociously  at  his 
wife.  He  knew  he  was  Major  Boles,  and  he  knew  every 
other  respectable  man  knew  it. 

But  Major-General  Peabody  was  the  greatest  general 
/  ever  saw.  When  a  boy,  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  very 
blood-thirsty  man,  and  nothing  would  have  induced  me 
to  go  near  him.  He  was  a  little  fellow  in  stature,  had  a 
hard  round  paunch  that  looked  like  an  iron  pot,  and 
short,  thick,  dropsical  legs.  (Major  Boles,  who  was  a 
little  envious,  said  they  were  stuffed,  which  produced  a 
coldness  between  them.)  His  face  was  freckled,  and  his 
hair  gray.  lie  wore  two  massive  epaulets,  an  old  Rev- 
olutionary cap,  shaped  like  the  moon  in  its  first  quarter, 
from  which  a  white  and  red  feather  curved  over  his  left 
ear.  He  had  a  sword  —  and  such  a  sword  !  Nobody 
dared  touch  it ;  for  it  was  the  General's  sword  I 

"  Training  day  "  usually  opened  with  a  boom  from  the 


250  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

field-piece,  at  sunrise,  that  shook  the  hills.  About  ten  in 
the  morning  the  soldiers  began  to  ponr  in  from  all  quar- 
ters. Drums  arid  fifes,  and  muskets  arid  rifles,  filed  along 
in  confusion,  —  ambitious  companies  in  uniform  —  com- 
mon militia,  who  were  out  according  to  law.  Uncle  Joe 
Billings,  who  had  played  the  bass-drum  for  more  than 
twenty  years  (poor  old  man,  he  is  dead  now  !)  was  seen 
gravely  marching  along  all  by  himself,  his  drum  slung 
about  his  neck,  his  head  erect,  his  step  firm,  pushing  on 
to  head-quarters  at  the  measured  beat  of  his  own  music, 
now  and  then  cutting  a  flourish  with  his  right  hand,  for 
the  amusement  of  the  children  who  were  capering  around 
him.  Knots  of  soldiers  gathered  about  the  tavern,  and 
made  a  circle  for  the  music  to  practise,  preparatory  to  the 
great  come-off.  Then  came  the  good  old  continental  tunes 
that  were  full  of  fight,  played  by  old  fifers  and  drummers 
that  had  been  through  the  wars  ;  men  who  made  a  sol- 
emn and  earnest  thing  of  martial  music  —  who  rever- 
enced it  as  the  sacred  voice  of  liberty,  not  to  be  trifled 
with,  who  thought  of  Bunker  Hill  until  the  tears  started 
from,  their  eyes.  Those  old  airs,  that  used  to  echo 
among  the  mountains  of  New  England  —  where  are  they  ? 
But  the  captains,  and  colonels,  and  generals  did  not 
mix  with  the  common  soldiers  on  training  day  —  no  !  nor 
speak  to  them.  Rank  meant  something.  They  felt  as 
though  they  were  out  in  a  war.  They  kept  themselves 
covered  from  the  public  gaze  away  off  in  a  secluded  cor- 
ner of  the  tavern,  and  were  waited  upon  with  great  re- 
spect by  those  of  inferior  grade.  Sometimes  a  guard  was 
stationed  at  the  door  to  prevent  a  crowd  upon  their  dig- 
nity. Occasionally,  one  of  them  would  bustle  out  among 
the  rank  and  file  on  some  momentous  duty,  fairly  blazing 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  251 

with  gold  and  silver,  lace  and  feathers  ;  but  there  was 
never  an  instance  of  one  of  these  characters  recognizing 
even  his  own  brother  while  in  military  costume.  Major 
Boles  has  often  said  that  "  no  officer  can  be  expected  to 
see  small  things  when  in  the  active  discharge  of  his  duty." 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  the  solemn  roll  of  the  drums 
was  heard,  and  loud  voices  of  command  followed  ;  and 
swords  flashed,  and  feathers  danced,  in  the  organization 
of  the  companies  ;  and  then  came  the  training  —  real 
training  —  a  mile  down  street ;  a-mile  back  again  ;  a  per- 
fect roar  of  music  ;  and  flags  flying  —  horses  prancing. 
What  was  rain,  or  dust,  or  mud  with  such  an  army  ! 
They  marched  straight  through  it  ;  it  was  nothing  to  war. 
The  sweat  poured  down,  but  the  army  moved  on  for  hours 
and  hours  in  its  terrible  march. 

The  great  sight  of  the  day,  however,  was  the  Major- 
General  and  his  staff —  I  mean,  of  course,  Major-General 
Peabody.  They  were  not  seen  until  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  ;  it  being  customary  for  them  to  with- 
draw from  public  observation  the  day  prior  to  the  muster. 
When  the  army  was  drawn  up  in  the  field,  preparatory 
to  inspection,  there  was  usually  a  pause  of  an  hour  —  a 
pause  that  was  deeply  impressive.  We  never  knew  ex- 
actly where  the  General  and  his  staff  were  concealed. 
Some  persons  said  they  were  housed  in  one  place,  some 
in  another ;  but,  upon  the  discharge  of  a  cannon,  they 
burst  upon  us,  glittering  like  the  sun,  and  carne  canter- 
ing down  the  road  with  perfect  fury,  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
followed  by  a  score  of  boys  who  were  on  a  sharp  run  to 
"  keep  up." 

General  Peabody  and  his  staff  always  rushed  headlong 
into  the  field,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  left.  I  rec- 


252  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

.ollect  that  on  one  occasion  he  demolished  an  apple-cart, 
and  absolutely  turned  everything  topsy-turvy,  besides 
creating  great  consternation  among  the  by-standers  ;  but 
it  did  not  disturb  him,  and  it  was  only  upon  information 
the  next  day  that  he  knew  that  anything  serious  had  hap- 
pened. 

Passing  the  ruins  of  the  apple-cart,  and  entering  within 
the  guarded  lines,  he  halted,  and  took  a  survey  of  his 
troops.  Then  the  music  saluted  him,  and  the  companies 
waved  their  flags.  He  rode  a  little  nearer,  rose  in  his 
stirrups,  jerked  out  his  sword  spitefully,  and,  looking  fe- 
rociously, cried  out,  "  Shoulder  arms  !  "  This  cry  was 
just  as  spitefully  repeated  by  the  subordinate  officers ; 
and,  after  a  while,  the  privates,  one  after  another,  lazily 
raised  their  "  pieces  "  to  their  shoulders.  The  General 
was  in  the  act  of  rising  again,  and  was  drawing  in  his 
breath  for  a  command  of  thunder,  when  his  horse  wheeled 
at  the  report  of  a  musket  that  went  off  in  the  lines,  and 
came  near  upsetting  him,  feathers  and  all ;  but  he  fell 
into  the  arms  of  one  of  his  aids,  and  —  swore,  as  I  was 
at  the  time  credibly  informed,  though  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve it. 

The  General  very  soon  righted  himself,  and,  striking 
his  horse  several  violent  blows  across  his  rump,  cut  a 
great  many  flourishes  on  the  field,  to  the  utter  astonish- 
ment of  the  lookers-on.  He  then  rushed  through  the 
orders  of  the  day  like  a  madman,  and  was  manifestly  ut- 
terly fearless  of  consequences. 

I  hope  my  readers  are  satisfied  that  Major-General 
Peabody  was  a  great  military  character.  I  recollect, 
when  a  boy,  that  I  heard  him  say,  "  that  he  was  very 
sure  he  would  be  the  last  man  to  run  in  a  fight/7  —  "  that 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  253 

he  was  afraid  to  trust  himself  in  a  battle,  for  he  never 
could  lay  down  his  sword  until  the  last  enemy  was  mas- 
sacred !  " 

The  old  man  was  laid  under  the  turf  one  autumnal  af- 
ternoon, many  years  ago,  but  his  prowess  is  not  forgot- 
ten to  this  day.  His  son,  Colonel  Asher  Peabody,  who 
inherited  his  father's  spirit,  erected  a  stately  monument 
over  his  remains,  which  was  covered  with  drums,  and 
fifes,  and  swords,  and  waving  banners,  and  big-mouthed 
guns,  intermixed  with  texts  of  Scripture,  the  virtues  of 
the  deceased,  admonitions  to  the  living,  &c.  This  monu- 
ment was  always  as  terrific  to  me  as  the  General  himself: 
and,  in  my  boyish  days,  I  always  contemplated  it  from  a 
distance,  not  knowing  but  that  it  might  blow  up  a  piece 
of  juvenile  impertinence  like  myself  on  the  spot. 

Yes,  reader,  these  were  training  days  in  New  Eng- 
land ;  but  the  military  glory  has  now  actually  died  out. 
The  last  gathering  I  saw  I  shall  never  forget.  -  It  was, 
indeed,  a  sorry  group,  made  up  of  a  rusty  captain,  two 
or  three  faded  corporals,  and  a  handful  of  dare-devil  pri- 
vates, who  cared  no  more  for  their  country  than  so  many 
heathen.  The  officers  looked  cowed  and  heart-broken, 
and  loitered  about  in  a  very  melancholy  way ;  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  spirit  of  ;76  was  on  its  last  legs.  I  af- 
terwards learned,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  the  captain,  in 
a  fit  of  patriotic  rage,  broke  his  sword  across  his  knee, 
and  declared  "  that  he  never  would  turn  out  again  as 
long  as  his  name  was  Jones  !  " 

And  then,  reader,  this  village  was  full  of  boys  when  I 
was  a  boy.  Every  village  is,  you  say.  Very  likely  ;  but 
such  boys  !  there  have  never  been  anything  like  them 
since.  They  wandered  with  me  Saturday  afternoons 


254  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

through  the  meadows,  where  the  lark  was  flitting  and 
singing ;  and  we  related  wonderful  stories  about  the  fu- 
ture. We  cut  red-willow  canes,  made  whistles,  and 
dammed  mountain  rivulets.  Life  opened  to  us  with  a 
chant :  it  was  melody,  melody  everywhere.  There  was 
the  mountain  gorge,  down  which  we  rolled  stones  with 
the  voice  of  thunder  ;  the  "  big  rock,"  in  the  river,  from 
which  we  fished  ;  the  pond,  that  we  thought  had  "  no 
bottom  ;  "  the  mountain  cliff,  with  its  "  den  of  snakes  :  " 
where  are  those  boys  now  ?  Everywhere  —  nowhere  I 
Citizens  of  the  world,  some  ;  and  some  of  that  other 
world.  They  will  never  be  all  gathered  but  once  more. 

But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  Puddleford  ?  Much. 
They  are  so  many  pictures  that  I  carry  around  with  me, 
and  they  form  a  part  of  my  existence.  They  color  life, 
thought,  action  ;  they  mould  the  man  ;  they  are  continu- 
ally inviting  contrasts,  and  making  suggestions  ;  and  I 
cannot  omit  to  notice  them  in  my  sketch  of  that  famous 
village. 

When  I  last  saw  my  native  village  —  it  was  but  a  lit- 
tle while  ago  —  it  lay  sleeping  in  its  amphitheatre  as 
beautiful  and  tranquil  as  ever  among  the  shadows  of  its 
elms.  It  was  summer,  and  the  air  was  rich  with  music 
and  flowers.  The  highest  peaks  of  the  mountain  were 
draped  in  blue,  and  the  valley  beneath  was  a  waving  sea 
of  green,  down  which  the  sunshine  chased  the  shade. 
The  quail  was  blowing  his  simple  pipe  among  the  fields 
of  grain  ;  the  drone  of  the  locust,  the  clanging  of  the 
mower's  scythe,  and  the  shout  and  the  song,  were  heard 
in  the  fields  in  the  still  afternoon.  When  the  sun  went 
down,  and  its  last  flash  leaped  from  the  vane  of  the 
church-steeple  to  a  lofty  mountain-peak  three  miles 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  255 

away,  the  whippoorwill  began  her  plaintive  song,  and 
the  night-hawks  went  wheeling  through  the  sky.  Then 
the  evening  bells  broke  forth,  and  their  echoes  sobered 
the  twilight ;  and,  as  their  last  vibration  expired  along 
the  valley,  the  river  stood  golden  beneath  the  rays  of  the 
moon. 


256  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XX. 

First  Militia  Law  in  Puddleford.  —  Aunt  Sonora  opposed  to  it.  — 
Turtle  sets  her  right.  —  Meeting  to  choose  Officers.  —  Longbow 
electioneers  for  Captain;  Takes  the  Chair.  —  Turtle  objects.  — 
P'ints  of  Order.  —  Vivy  Vocy  Vote  won't  do.  —  Legally  authorized 
Boxes  must  be  had.  —  Longbow's  Speech.  —  Turtle  fined  for  Con- 
tempt. —  Longbow  elected  Captain.  —  Great  Military  Turn-out. 
—  Company  turn  a  Circle  ;  Break  down.  —  Turn  an  Angle  ; 
Break  down  again.  —  Address  to  Troops.  —  Adjourn  sine  die. 


fITHIS  great  republic  has  ever  been  notorious  for  its 
J-  patriotism,  and  this  patriotism  used  to  break  out 
everywhere,  in  days  past,  into  a  volcanic  eruption  on 
days  of  general  militia  muster.  Puddleford  began  very 
early  to  feel  the  necessity  of  a  spontaneous  expression 
of  its  devotion  to  our  common  country.  When  it  was 
very  new,  and  before  any  law  had  been  passed  by  the 
legislature  organizing  its  people  into  companies,  regi- 
ments, battalions,  and  divisions,  very  strong  premonitory 
symptoms  of  war  were  frequently  manifested.  Beagle 
brought  into  the  country  an  old  snare  drum,  which  gave 
out  a  very  crazy  sound.  Swipes  owned  a  fife  that 
squeaked  most  hideously;  and  this  fife  and  drum,  with 
their  owners  tied  to  them,  often  went  on  one  of  the 
most  public  corners  of  the  village,  on  moonlight  nights, 
and  roused  up  the  war  spirit  of  the  whole  neighborhood. 
They  seemed  to  put  the  very  furies  into  the  dogs,  who 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  25f 

barked  and  howled  from  every  quarter.  By  and  by,  a 
law  was  passed  by  the  legislature  of  the  st'ate,  compelling 
every  man  to  do  militia  duty,  under  fines  and  penalties 
that  were  really  frightful ;  and  Turtle  most  solemnly  de- 
clared, upon  the  strength  of  a  fee  of  one  dollar  to  him 
paid  for  his  advice  thereon,  "  that  the  act  was  consti- 
tutional, and  accordin'  to  the  common  la7  and  the  stat- 
erts,  and  that  it  must  be  lived  up  to,  fodder  or  no 
fodder !  " 

Aunt  Sonora  said,  "  she  didn't  see  what  under  heavens 
an'  airth  anybody  wanted  of  a  war  la'  ;  they'd  allers  got 
along  well  ;nough  in  Puddleford  miridin'  their  own  busi- 
ness. Somebody  allers  got  killed  when  there  were  so 
many  guns  and  sogers,  and  so  much  powder  ;  and  for 
her  part,  she'd  riot  stay  round  any  such  gath'rings,  if  she 
starv'd  in  jail.  She'd  quit  the  settlement  fust !  " 

Turtle  informed  the  old  lady  that  "  wimin  wouldn't 
have-ter  turn  out ;  it  was  only  the  men  over  eighteen 
years  of  age  —  and  that  there  was  no  fighting  done,  only 
in  case  of  actual  invasion  of  the  country,  when  wimiu 
and  all  would  have-ter  fight  like  blazes,  or  the  whole 
settlement  would  be  laid  in  ashes." 

Aunt  Sonora  still  insisted  that  "  guns  were  dang-rous, 
any  way  ;  that  they  would  go  off,  nobody  knew  when, 
and  she  shouldn't  be  s'prised  to  hear  of  a  dozen  men 
bein'  killed  at  every  trainin'  ;  if  men  would  only  be 
ker-ful,  but  then  they  wouldn't ;  they'd  all  get  as  crazy 
as  March  hares,  and  as  wild  as  loons  !  " 

By  the  law,  every  company  was  permitted  to  choose 
its  own  officers,  and  Puddleford  counted  just  about  people 
enough  to  make  a  respectable  organization  of  one  com- 
pany in  numbers.  It  was  resolved  to  hold  a  meeting  for 
17 


258  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

organization,  and  to  immediately  choose  officers,  at  the 
tavern  of  Bulliphant,  no  man  under  eighteen  years  of 
age  to  be  present,  because,  as  Longbow  declared,  "that 
would  be  agin  the  la',  and  the  proceedings  would  be  all 
squashed. " 

In  truth,  Longbow  had  no  doubt  in  his  mind,  from  the 
very  first,  that  he  would  be  captain  from  the  very  ne- 
cessity of  the  case.  He  was,  he  thought,  the  military 
pillar  of  the  whole  township,  as  well  as  the  civil ;  and 
as  he  had.  generalled  everything  so  far,  he  did  not  be- 
lieve any  one  would  dare  to  dispute  his  inalienable  right 
to  that  eminent  position.  So  the  Squire  began  very 
early  to  talk  learnedly  about  the  last  war,  and  the  blood 
and  fury  which  accompanied  it ;  and  he  put  on  a  very 
ferocious  look  when  in  public,  and  was  frequently  seen 
practising  with  his  old  fusee  at  a  mark,  which  discharged 
like  a  funnel,  wrong  end  foremost.  "  He  had  a  brother/' 
he  said,  "  who  fit  at  Lunder's  Lane,  and  who  was  shot 
in  the  back,  by  savage  Injuns  in  the  rear,  jest  as  he  was 
a-bagnettin'  some  of  the  British !  " 

Turtle,  who  was  a  little  ambitious  for  the  office,  and 
who  saw  the  drift  of  the  Squire's  bravado,  said,  "  he 
guessed  he  was  a-runnin'  when  he  got  that  are  shot." 

The  Squire  replied,  that  "  he  shouldn't  sit  still  and 
hear  such  talk  from  any  man.  He  didn't  care  'bout 
his  brother  —  it  warn't  that  —  but  to  hear  the  patriots 
of  our  country  slandered  was  a  species  of  high  treason, 
and  that  was  agin  the  constitution  ;  and  that  'ere  inster- 
ment  couldn't  be  violated  in  his  presence  by  no  man  — 
he  was  a  sworn  officer — and  the  glorious  blood  of  the 
great  wars  was  a  sacred  thing  in  his  eye  —  and  it  should 
be  protected." 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  259 

Turtle  declared,  "  it  didn't  make  any  difference  what 
the  Squire's  brother  did,  or  did  not  do  —  it  didn't  help 
the  Squire  any.  He  guessed  the  Squire's  blood  had 
Peter'd  out." 

The  Squire  said,  "he  was  the  last  man  to  boast  of  his 
relations,  but  blood  was  blood,  whatever  they  might  say." 

On  the  famous  night  when  the  election  came  off,  the 
tavern  of  Bulliphant  was  crowded.  A  dozen  or  more 
ragged  urchins,  who  had  been  barred  out  by  authority 
contained  in  the  notice,  had  clustered  around  the  win- 
dows, and  were  gazing  in  with  awe  upon  the  assem- 
blage. The  "  wimin "  had  been  admitted  by  special 
grace,  and  occupied  the  adjoining  rooms.  It  was  a  most 
momentous  occasion  —  a  great  day  for  Puddleford  — 
"  it  looked  so  much  like  war,"  as  Aunt  Sonorasaid,  "  as 
if  they  were  a-goin'  to  fight  right  off." 

The  Squire  rose,  after  the  crowd  had  gathered,  and 
said,  "  the  first  thing  in  order  was  to  drink  —  it  wouldn't 
be  proper  to  enter  into  any  important  military  business, 
without  first  drinking  to  our  common  country  —  arid 
he  wished  the  landZud  to  set  on  a  gallon  of  baldface  — 
the  Puddleford  name  for  whiskey  —  so  the  wheels  could 
be  started  right." 

"  And  another  thing,"  exclaimed  Turtle  ;  "we  want 
the  American  flag  and  an  eagle,  these  'ere  glorious  sym- 
bols that  went  along  with  our  forefathers  when  they 
were  a  fightin'  for  the  liberties  of  our  country  !  "  but  as 
Puddleford  had  no  flag,  a  compromise  was  made,  and 
the  meeting  concluded  to  nail  a  shilling  pocket-handker- 
chief, which  had  one  painted  on  it,  to  the  bar,  leave  out 
the  eagle,  and  take  the  whiskey. 

Squire  Longbow  took  the  chair,  and  said,  "  he  would 


260  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

listen  to  anything  the  meetin'  had  to  say.  He  was  by 
la'  inspector  of  elections. " 

Turtle  objected  —  "  he  didn't  know  whether  he'd  take 
the  chair  or  not  —  that  was  for  the  meetin'  to  say." 

The  Squire  said,  "  he  took  it  by  virtue  of  bein'  a 
member  of  the  board  of  inspectors  of  township  elections 

—  and  this  was  one  of  'em  — a  regular  township  'lection, 
and  nothin'    else,    held   by  authority  of  la',  under   the 
statert,  past  and  'proved,  and  sent  him  as  justis  to  be 
lived  up  to." 

"Turtle  replied,  "  he  didn't  see  how  the  Squire  was 
a  board  of  inspectors  ;  'cordin'  to  his  own  showin'  — 
where's  the  township  clerk,  and  where's  the  supervisor 

—  have   you    swallow'd    'em    all    up,    Mr  Longbow?" 
He  objected,  and  ho  wanted  his  objection  noted  —  taken 
down  iii  black  and  white. 

The  Squire  said,  "that  was  their  business- — if  they 
neglected  the  defence  of  our  common  country,  he  couldn't 
help  it  —  he  meant  to  be  a  patriot,  and  stand  up  to  the 
constitution  and  staterts,  if  every  man  in  Puddleford 
turned  traitor."  The  Squire  swelled  out  very  large, 
alter  concluding  this  speech. 

At  this  point,  Aunt  Sonora,  who  was  intently  absorbed 
in  the  earnestness  which  pervaded  the  meeting,  and  who 
sat  in  the  next  room,  rose,  and  asked  the  Squire  "  if 
there  was  really  goin'  to  be  war  ?  " 

The  Squire  replied,  "  that  the  meetin'  must  not  be 
disturbed  ;  the  wimin  had  been  let  in^  as  a  great  favor  — 
for  he  didn't  think  the  statert  meant  to  have  a  soul  on  'em 
present,  and  he  didn't  know  but  jest  that  thing  would  blow 
all  the  proceedin's  to  flinders  in  the  higher  courts,  and 
that  every  soul  on  'em  would  be  court-martialed." 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  261 

Aunt  Sonora  slunk  out  of  sight,  drew  her  handker- 
chief, and  heaved  a  long  sigh. 

Turtle  rose  and  said,  "  he  would  nominate  the  Colonel 
captain  of  the  first  militia  company  of  Puddleford." 

"  That's  straight  agin  la'  !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire  ; 
"that  makes  a  vivy  vocy  vote  on't,  arid  we  can't  take 
any  vivy  vocy  vote  here  ;  this  ;ere  thing  has  got-ter  go 
through  the  town  ballot-box,  or  it  won't  be  legal  —  this 
vote  must  be  returned  in  form  to  the  governor,  and  if  he 
should  see  it  was  a  vivy  vocy  vote,  he'd  squash  every, 
thing  quicker'n  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson."  The 
Squire  didn't  like  the  nomination  —  he  was  determined 
to  be  captain  himself. 

Turtle  asked  the  Squire  "  if  a  hat  would  not  do  to  col- 
lect votes  ?  " 

The  Squire  said,  "  nothing  short  of  the  legally  author- 
ized boxes  ;  he  couldn't  trample  down  the  la'." 

The  legally  authorized  boxes  were  procured,  and  the 
voting  was  ready  to  go  forward. 

Hereupon  the  Squire  arose,  and  blowing  his  nose  with 
one  finger,  a  side  at  a  time,  and  heaving  a  few  sepulchral 
hems,  said  "  that  it  was  his  duty  to  say  a  few  words  : 
He  was  something  of  a  military  man  himself  —  he 
belonged  to  the  Hos  Guards  down  in  the  Susquehannas, 
when  he  was  a  young  man,  a  great  many  years  ago,  and 
they  had  sham  fights  most  every  year."  ("Was  any- 
body killed  ?  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora,  who  had  forgotten 
herself,  and  whose  nerves  had  been  shocked  by  hearing 
the  word  "fight.") 

The  Squire  turned  to  Aunt  Sonora,  and  declared  that 
"  it  was  the  last  time  she  should  speak.  They  had  sham 
fights  most  every  year,"  continued  the  Squire,  "  and  he 


262  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

recollected  that,  while  pursuin'  the  enemy  in  an  open 
field,  he  fell  from  his  horse,  and  bruised  his  head,  but  he 
caught  his  horse  agin,  and  jined  his  company,  Tore  any- 
body knew  what  had  happened." 

Turtle  rose,  and  inquired,  "  What  he  put  on  his  head  ? 
If  it  warn't  opodildoc  ?  " 

"  And  that  company,77  continued  the  Squire,  disre- 
garding Turtle's  question,  "is  in  existence  yet,  and  is 
commanded  by  Captain  Zekiel — Zekiel —  Zekiel  —  I  don't 
know  what  his  t'other  name  is  ;  and  there  ain't  no  time, 
feller-citizens,  sin'  it's  bin  a  company,  that  it  wouldn't  er 
turned  out  in  war  if  there'd  bin  a  war,  and  they'd  bin 
called  on,  feller-citizens." 

Turtle  said  "he  know'd  about  the  last  war,  and  he 
never  heer'd  of  that  company  of  Hos  Guards  nowhere." 

"  Ah  !  but  you  see  !  "  answered  the  Squire,  "  they 
weren't  called  on  —  and  he  might  as  well  say  that  he  was 
/(/-tenant  onc't  in  the  great  Pennsylvaney  militia  —  not 
that  he  wanted  to  be  captain  of  this  company  —  and  he 
might  a  'gone  higher,  but  he  wouldn't  take  it — his  former 
wife,  that's  dead  and  gone,  know'd  that.  And  then,  feller- 
citizens,  there's  a  great  deal  of  la'  'bout  our  militia,  and 
if  a  captin  don't  know  the  la',  everything  will  be  illegal, 
and  ei'en/son  of  you  will  be  called  up  and  court-martialed, 
and  fined,  and  'prisoned,  and  your  property  taken  and 
sold  ;  and  there  ain't  no  'peeliri'  it  up,  for  military  laws 
ain't  like  other  laws,  feller-citizens,  they  ain't  —  " 

"  That's  a  lie  !  "  exclaimed  Turtle. 

"  Who  says  that's  a  lie  ?  "  vociferated  the  Squire,  jerk- 
ing his  head  around.  "  What's  a  lie  ?  " 

"  It's  all  a  lie  !  "  repeated  Ike. 

"  Give    me   that  'ere   statement,"  roared  the  Squire. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  263 

It  was  handed  up.  "  By  authority  in  rne  vested,  in  that 
'ere  book,  I  fine  you  one  dollar.  It's  a  contempt,  sir  - 
a  contempt  upon  both  a  justice  of  the  peace,  arid  a 
'spector  of  'lections.  I  oughter  say  two  dollars  — -  it's 
a  double  contempt  —  I  fine  you  one  dollar,  sir  :  and  you 
can't  vote,  sir,  here,  sir,  in  this  'ere  meetin',  sir,  while 
you're  under  contempt,  sir,  until  you  pay  the  dollar,  sir 
—  and  I  might  sue  you  for  special  damages,  sir,  but  / 
don't  care  'bout  that,  sir  —  it  is  my  office  that  I  am  pro- 
tectin'  ;  "  and  the  Squire  sat  down  in  the  midst  of  his 
unfinished  speech,  filled  with  wrath. 

Squire  Longbow  was  very  sincere  in  his  position 
which  he  had  so  confidently  taken.  He  had  been  so  long 
a  magistrate,  and  "  head  man  "  of  Puddleford,  and  he 
had  been  so  closely  identified  with  its  public  affairs,  that 
he  felt  himself  always  in  court,  and  every  personal  insult 
was  construed  by  him  into  a  contempt.  Turtle  humored 
the  weakness  of  the  old  man,  when  his  dignity  was  in 
jeopardy,  and  on  this  occasion  he  felt  no  alarm,  for  he 
knew  that  the  fine  would  never  be  collected.  Turtle 
owed  the  Squire  more  fines  already  than  he  was  worth. 

Squire  Longbow  was  elected  captain  of  the  Puddleford 
company.  When  he  spoke  so  eloquently  of  the  liberty 
and  property  of  the  people  being  so  likely  to  be  jeopar- 
dized by  an  officer  ignorant  in  the  law,  he  carried  his 
point,  for  there  was  no  man  in  the  settlement  so  mighty  as 
the  Squire  in  that  respect,  in  the  estimation  of  the  public. 

In  the  fall,  the  Squire  exhibited  the  first  Puddleford 
militia  company  ever  assembled  upon  parade  to  the 
gaping  wonder  of  its  men,  women,  and  children.  He 
formed  his  raw  recruits  into  a  line  by  the  aid  of  a  board 
fence,  which  was  supposed  to  be  nearly  straight,  in  the 


264  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

outskirts  of  the  place.  The  Squire  was  a  very  blood- 
thirsty looking  captain,  after  he  had  mounted  his  regi- 
mentals. He  had  turned  up  a  broad-brimmed  felt  hat, 
and  tacked  the  sides  by  a  flaming  red  cockade  made  of 
flannel,  and  had  fastened  an  ostrich  feather,  which  he 
found  in  the  wardrobe  of  his  second  wife,  Aunt  Graves, 
in  its  top,  which  drooped  heavily  over  his  back.  His 
coat  was  his  best  homespun,  the  same  that  was  woven 
by  the  hands  of  his  first  wife,  and  in  which  he  afterwards 
courted  Aunt  Graves,  and  it  was  bedizened  with  stripes 
of  cloth  of  every  color.  His  sword  was  an  old-fashioned 
affair,  which  he  had  loaned  of  Ike  Turtle,  and  was  an 
heirloom  in  the  Turtle  family,  it  having  been  used  by  his 
grandfather  in  the  revolutionary  war.  His  waistcoat 
was  red,  and  his  boot-legs  came  over  his  pantaloons,  each 
one  supporting  a  heavy  cotton  tassel,  which  swung  to 
and  fro  as  he  walked. 

The  company  was  as  complete  a  specimen  of  raga- 
muffins as  were  ever  congregated  together.  There  were 
three  guns  to  the  crowd,  and  the  balance  of  the  arms 
were  made  up  of  the  most  murderous  implements  within 
reach,  such  as  axes,  pitchforks,  &c. 

But  the  Squire  did  not  forget  his  dignity  for  a  single 
moment.  He  put  on  a  martial  air,  and  felt  himself  every 
inch  a  captain.  While  his  company  stood  erect  in  a  line 
against  the  board  fence,  he  marched  backwards  and  for- 
wards, looking  at  it  over  his  shoulder,  with  the  greatest 
military  pride,  while  three  dogs,  his  own  property,  and 
who  had  come  out  to  witness  the  parade,  trotted  after 
him.  When  the  Squire  wheeled  to  retrace  his  steps,  the 
clogs  wheeled  ;  when  the  Squire  faced  about  to  take  a 
broadside  view  of  his  company,  the  dogs  sat  down  on 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  265 

their  haunches,  and  took  a  view  with  him.  During  the 
exercises,  the  Squire  accidentally  cut  a  low  flourish  with 
his  sword,  and  upset  one  of  his  own  curs,  who  went  howl- 
ing- towards  the  fence,  and  lay  down  in  the  shade,  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  war,  while  the  other  two,  taking 
warning,  retired  farther  in  the  rear,  where  they  thought 
they  could  see  just  as  well.  The  Squire  had  not  studied 
very  deeply  military  works  on  tactics,  and  his  orders 
were  somewhat  monotonous,  and  were  mostly  made  up  of 
two  —  "  Shoul-eter  arms!"  and  "  Rest !  "  Walking  a 
few  paces,  he  would  suddenly  wheel  and  cry,  like  the 
cracking  of  a  pistol,  in  a  most  furious  tone  —  "  Shoul- 
der  arms  !  "  then  taking  a  few  strides,  which  seemed*  to 
soften  his  temper,  he  would  turn  softly,  as  if  he  re- 
pented his  harshness,  with  —  "  Rest !  "  And  the  Puddle- 
ford  company  for  an  hour  shouldered  and  unshouldered 
their  arms,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  crowd  of  urchins 
that  were  looking  on. 

It  had  been  announced  for  a  week,  that  the  field  exer- 
cises would  come  off  in  the  afternoon,  at  three  o'clock. 
The  ladies  were  invited  to  attend  at  that  hour,  to  witness 
the  display.  Squire  Longbow  gave  as  a  reason  for  this 
second  eruption  of  patriotism,  that  the  "  IIos  Guards 
down  on  the  Susquehannas  allers  had  field  exercises  in 
the  arternoon,"  —  "  that,  if  it  hadn't-er  been  for  field 
exercises,  the  IIos  Guards  wouldn't-er  never  been  fit  for 
war,"  —  and  Aunt  Sonora  told  Mrs.  Swipes,  and  Mrs. 
Swipes  told  Mrs.  Beagle,  arid  they  all  told  somebody  else, 
that  the  field  exercises  were  going  to  be  "jist  sich  as  the 
Squire  used  to  have  down  on  the  Susquehannas."  Aunt 
Sonora,  however,  sent  down  her  boy  Jabez  to  inquire  of 
Squire  Longbow's  wife,  if  there  was  a-goin7  to  be  any 


266  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

shootin'  there,  for  if  there  was,  "  she  was  the  last  critter 
that  would  go  —  she  could  tell  'em  that." 

At  noon  the  Puddleford  company  adjourned  for  one 
hour,  when  the  Squire  thanked  them,  "  one  and  all,  for 
their  grand  military  performance,  which  was  a  credit 
alike  unto  themselves  and  their  country,  and  he  hop'd 
they'd  be  on  hand  in  the  arter-noorc,  'cordin'  to  law." 

At  three  o'clock  the  troops  assembled  for  field  exer- 
cises, in  a  ten-acre  lot,  and  they  appeared  to  be  very 
much  recruited.  Some  eight  or  ten  of  the  patriots,  how- 
ever, had  evidently  been  indulging  at  the  "  Eagle/'  arid 
they  did  not  stand  quite  plumb.  The  captain  found  it 
very  difficult  to  form  them  into  a  line.  Beagle  could  not 
possibly  shoulder  arms  without  sagging  against  the 
column.  Swipes  stood  much  straighter  than  he  did 
when  sober  in  the  forenoon.  lie  was  so  anxious  to  dis- 
guise his  condition,  that  ho  had  planted  himself  in  a  most 
defiant  attitude,  with  one  foot  advanced,  and  had  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  sky  ;  he  went  through  the  exercises  in 
a  twitching,  nervous  way,  as  if  Longbow  was  moving 
him  like  a  puppet  by  a  string.  Turtle  felt  mischievously 
well,  and  the  colonel  stood  as  stoical  as  if  he  expected  to 
la}7  down  his  life  before  the  enemy  in  fifteen  minutes. 

The  Squire's  three  dogs,  who  had  been  out  during  the 
forenoon,  had  returned  to  see  the  end  of  the  parade. 
Thirty  or  forty  women  and  children  were  also  present, 
sitting  upon  stumps,  and  hanging  upon  fences  in  a  very 
miscellaneous  sort  of  confusion.  Aunt  Sonora  and  Mrs. 
Longbow  had  procured  a  couple  of  chairs,  and  the  old 
lady  seated  herself,  and  took  up  her  knitting.  Mrs. 
Longbow  did  not  mix  very  much  with  the  crowd,  because 
she  could  not  forget  that  her  husband  was  "  captin  of 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  267 

the  da}'/'  as  she  said,  and  she  and  her  husband  she  felt 
to  be  one. 

The  Squire  formed  the  company  into  a  line.  "  The 
fust  thing  to  be  did/'  exclaimed  he,  drawing  his  sword, 
and  swinging  it  three  times  around  his  head,  as  a  kind  of 
three  cheers,  and  scaring  his  dogs  by  this  frightful  flourish, 
repeated  before  their  eyes,  and  who  had  not  forgotten  the 
accident  of  the  morning — "  the  fust  thing  to  be  did, 
feller-sogers,  is  to  turn  a  circle/7 

"  To  turn  a  what?  "  roared  Turtle  from  the  ranks. 

"  To  turn  a  circle/'  repeated  the.  captain,  "  as  the  Hos 
Guards  used  to  do,  down  inter  the  Susquehannas." 

11  T-h-u-n-d-e-r  !  !  "  ejaculated  Ike. 

"  No  talking  in  the  ranks  —  'tis  finable  —  and  'twon't 
be  permitted.  We're  under  martial  law,  and  that's  very 
sum'ry,  Mr.  Turtle,  very  sum'ry  !  And  to  turn  a  circle," 
continued  the  Squire,  "  is  one-er  the  most  complercated 
revolutions  ever  performed  by  the  Hos  Guards.  I  here- 
by appoint  Mr.  Beagle  the  centre  pin.  Mr.  Turtle  will 
head  the  column  —  Mr.  Beagle  will  stand  still,  and  the 
column  will  sweep  round  him,  to  the  point  from  which 
they  started.  Heads  up  !  Shoul-rfer  arms  !  Ev'ry  man 
to  his  post !  " 

The  captain  drew  his  sword,  and  cried  terribly,  "  For- 
erd,  men  !  "  Turtle  ran  —  the  man  behind  him  ran  —  and 
all  ran,  helter-skelter,  some  whooping,  some  groaning, 
and  in  their  sweep  they  took  in  a  score  of  ragged  boys, 
and  hurled  them  upon  Aunt  Soriora  and  Mrs.  Longbow, 
who  keeled  over  backwards  in  their  chairs,  their  petticoats 
fluttering,  in  their  somerset,  in  the  face  of  the  whole 
company.  The  Squire,  forgetting  his  own  position,  when 
he  saw  the  position  of  his  second  wife,  hastened  to  her 


268  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

rescue,  set  her  tip,  and  pointed  with  his  sword  to  the 
road,  and  she  and  Aunt  Sonora  pushed  desperately  for 
the  fence,  their  hair  streaming  behind  them,  bellowing 
"  Murder !  "  while  the  company  brought  up  in  the  shape 
of  a  pot-hook,  having  about  half  described  the  circle,  — 
Beagle,  the  "  centre-pin/7  crying  to  them  to  "  come 
on!" 

"  TI — 11 ! "  involuntarily  ejaculated  the  Squire,  as  he 
looked  upon  the  confusion. 

"  That's  swearing"  said  Ike  from  the  ranks,  "  and  is 
agin  the  state rt." 

The  Squire  explained.  "He  didn't  swear  as  a  justis', 
he  swore  as  a  captin',  and  captins  allers  swore  on  the 
field-er  action  —  but  he'd  take  that  'ere  oath  back. 
—  What  do  you  s'pose  the  Hos  Guards  would  think  of 
such  a  revolution  as  that  'ere/'  —  continued  the  Squire, 
looking  at  the  huddle  before  him,  "  wouldn't  they  swear  ? 
Do  you  call  that  a  circle  ?  —  Every  man  to  his  post  in  a 
line  !  "  and  the  company  straggled  back  into  a  column. 

Aunt  Sonora  sat  upon  the  fence,  panting  with  fright, 
and  fanning  her  flushed  face  with  her  cotton  handkerchief. 
She  told  Mr.  Longbow  that  "  she  kriow'd  that  somebody'd 
be  kill'd  afore  night — these  sogers  were  so  ker-\ess  — 
everybody  was  so  hurly-burly,  they'd  run  anybody  right 
down,  and  stomp  on  'em  ;  arid  if  she  hadn't  got  out-er  the 
way  jist  as  she  did,  she  would  have  been  a  dead  woman, 
she  know'd." 

"  Now,"  said  the  Squire,  "  we'll  try  to  turn  an  angle ; 
if  you  can't  turn  a  circle,  maybe  you  can  turn  an  angle  ; 
and  we'll  drive  a  stake  to  turn  it  by,  and  Mr.  Turtle  will 
again  head  the  column." 

The  stake  was  driven  at  the  point  of  the  right  angle, 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  269 

"  where, "  said  the  captain,  "  you  will  all  turn  square 
around.11  The  column  moved  forward  solemnly,  in  a  line 
like  a  scythe  snath,  and,  reaching1  the  corner,  began  to 
waver.  Beagle  at  last  fell  headlong  over  the  stake,  and 
the  whole  company  brought  up  in  a  pile  around  him  ; 
whereupon  the  Squire  threw  his  sword  on  the  ground, 
and  declared,  u  he'd  throw  up  his  commission  —  and  the 
country  might  go  to  grass  for  all  him.'* 

Turtle,  who  had  brought  about  this  confusion,  "  re- 
gretted the  misfortune.  It  was  all  an  accident  —  Beagle 
had  fallen,  and  discomboberated  the  whole  proceedings  — 
accidents  would  occur  on  the  field  —  and,  in  fact,  he 
know'd  a  man  shot  down  dead  once  in  the  ranks  —  he 
guess'd  the  movement  had  better  be  tried  over  ;  the  stake, 
he  thought,  was  a  leetle  too  high." 

The  Squire  said,  "it  was  very  discouragiri'  — the  Hos- 
Guards  down  on  the  Susquehannas  turned  an  angle  the 
fust  time  tryin'  —  and  on  hosses,  too.  His  fust  wife,  now- 
dead  and  gone,  know'd  that,  for  she  was  thai*  —  it  was 
one  of  the  simplest  revolutions  in  all  military  tactics.  He 
would  like  jist  to  know  what  a  company  would  be  good 
for,  on  a  field-er  battle,  that  couldn't  turn  an  angle  ?  He 
would  jist  like  to  know  what  they  would  do  if  they  were 
following  the  enemy  through  a  hilly  country,  if  they 
couldn't  turn  an  angle  ?  —  they'd  all  be  butcher' d  'fore 
they  could  get  round  to  the  spot  they'd  started  for. 
War  was  war  —  and  the  revolution  ought  to  be  did  jist 
as  if  we  were  to-day  fightin'  for  our  liberties.  He'd  like 
to  know  what  the  Hos  Guards  would  say  if  he  should 
tell  'em  that  one  of  his  sogers  had  fallen  down  turnin' 
an  angle !  He  would  throw  up  his  commission  afore 
he'd  tell  'em  any  such  thing." 


270  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Beagle  said  he  "  stumbled.77  "  Stumbled  I  "  roared 
the  Squire.  "  You  stumbled  !  —  who  ever  heard  of  the 
Hos  Guards  stumblin7  !  Stumbled  ?  by  the  great  Bony- 
parte — that  ain't  swearin7,  Mr.  Turtle — you7d  be  hung 
by  the  neck,  sir,  if  you  stumbled  on  the  field-er  battle  — 
it's  a  hangin7  offence,  sir  —  a  hangin7  offence,  sir.  We 
are  under  martial  law,  sir,  to-day,  sir,  and  if  it  was  war 
time,  sir,  I7d  order  you  to  be  stretch'd,  sir,  in  five  min- 
utes, sir,  from  that  7ere  tree,  sir  —  I7d  show  you  war,  sir 
—  real  war,  sir  !  bloody  war,  sir  ! 77 

Turtle  suggested  that  a  lower  stake  had  better  be 
driven — or  the  outside  angle  of  the  fence  would  be  still 
better,  that  would  stand — they  could  walk  round  a  fence 
corner,  he  knew. 

Aunt  Sonora  "  hop7d  for  massy-sakes  they  warn* t  a- 
goin7  to  come  out  of  the  field  —  they  ought-er  be  fenced 
in  — she  thought  it  warn7t  safe!  " 

Mrs.  Longbow,  who  had  great  confidence  in  her  hus- 
band, said,  "  she  needn't  be  alarm7d  any,  the  capt'n 
would  take  care  on  ?em.7' 

The  Squire  declared,  "he  wouldn7t  try  any  sich  revo- 
lution over  agin,  but  he  thought  they  could  march  in 
platoons  ;  77  and  thereupon  he  cried,  "  Company,  form  in 
pin-loons!  " 

Turtle  said,  "he  wasn7t  any  war  character,  and  he 
didn't  know  what  a  platoon  was,  but  he  know7d  Injun 
file." 

"  Well,  Injun  file,  then,77  exclaimed  the  captain  ;  and 
from  Injun  file,  Longbow  set  them  around  into  a  hollow 
square,  put  the  women  in  the  centre,  and  he  delivered 
to  his  troops  the  address  of  the  day,  with  uncovered 
heads,  and  in  the  most  affecting  silence. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  271 

The  address  was  a  very  patriotic  production.  The 
Squire  drew  heavily  from  the  great  revolutionary  war 
to  find  inspiring  materials  to  stimulate  his  forces.  He 
told  them,  among  other  things,  that  his  own  grandfather 
was  "  wounded  in  the  hip  a-fightin'  for  his  country,  and 
that  he  draw'd  a  pension  arterwards  as  long  as  he  lived. 
He  hop'd  they'd  all  get  ready  for  the  great  muster  that 
was  a-goin'  to  come  off*  in  a  few  weeks  ;  for  the  gin'ral 
would  be  there,  then,  and  a  good  deal  was  expected  of 
the  Puddleford  company  on  that  occasion. "  The  Squire 
had  forgotten  the  unfortunate  blunders  of  the  day,  in  his 
enthusiasm,  or,  at  any  rate,  he  did  not  allude  to  them,  for 
he  said,  "he  was  proud  of  the  soldier-like  bearin'  of  his 
men,  and  the  great  respect  they  all  seem'd  to  have  for 
their  capt'n  —  that  their  arms  were  not  'zactly  accordin' 
to  la'." 

"  'Cording  to  the  Lord,"  whispered  Aunt  Sonora,  hor- 
rified, very  audibly  —  "  Hear  that." 

"  'Cording  to  la',"  repeated  the  Squire,  who  overheard 
her,  "  not  'zactly  'cordin'  to  la',  but  it  is  a  constructive 
compliance  with  the  statert,  and  will  pass  muster  on  the 
first  turn-out;  and,  thankin'  them  all  for  their  attendance, 
he  adjourned  the  company  siney  die." 


272  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Mrs.  Bird  gets  in  a  Rage. —  Starve  a  Child.  —  Mrs.  Bird  blows  off 
at  Mrs.  Beagle.  —  Takes  Breath.  —  Blows  off  again.  —  Mrs.  Bea- 
gle gives  a  Piece  of  her  Mind.  —  Aunt  Sonora  drops  in.  —  She 
has  no  Faith  in  Second  Wives.  —  All  adjourn  to  the  House  of 
Mrs.  Swipes.  —  General  Fight  of  Tongues.  —  Mrs.  Swipes  gives 
her  Opinion.  —  A  Dead  Set  by  all  upon  Mrs.  Longbow.  —  Mrs. 
Longbow  raps  at  the  Door.  — The  Scene  changes.  —  Final  Wind-up. 

AUNT  GRAVES  had  not  got  warm  in  her  seat  as  mis- 
tress of  Squire  Longbow's  household,  when  she 
found  half  of  the  female  portion  of  Puddleford  upon  her 
in  full  cry.  The  Swipeses,  and  the  Beagles,  and  Birds, 
who  were  very  jealous  of  the  sudden  elevation  of  the  old 
spinster,  gave  her  no  peace  night  nor  day.  They  had 
seen  the  time  when  she  looked  up  to  them,  and  now  she 
was  the  wife  of  a  Squire  —  had  taken  good  old  Mrs. 
Longbow's  place,  and  "really/'  as  they  said,  "tried  to 
lord  it  over  them." 

Mrs.  Bird  went  all  the  way  in  the  rain,  mud  over  shoe, 
to  inform  Mrs.  Beagle  "  that  she  waru't  a-goiri'  to  stand 
it  any  longer ;  she'd  seen  enough,  and  if  other  people 
were  a-mind  to  blind  their  eyes,  they  might  —  she  guessed 
she  know'd  what  was  what  —  she  warn't  brought  into  the 
world  for  nothin'  — they  might  humbug  her  if  they  could 
—  she  only  wished  old  Mrs.  Longbow  could  jist  rise  from 
her  grave — jist  once  —  that's  all  she  would  ask  —  she'd 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  273 

make  a  scatterin'  among  the  dry  bones  —  jist  to  think  — 
to  think  —  " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beagle,  who  stood  waiting 
for  the  climax,  with  her  mouth  wide  open,  holding  her 
dish-cloth  in  her  hand. 

"  What  ?  —  what  ?  "  —  repeated  Mrs.  Bird,  "  you  may 
well  say  what  —  that  Longbow  woman  abuses  little  El- 
vira Julia  Longbow  like  sixty  —  the  cfa/'ling  creature  — 
how  my  heart  bleeds.  That  child,"  continued  Mrs.  Bird, 
putting  down  each  word  in  a  measured  way  by  striking 
her  fist  on  the  table  —  "  that  child  —  that  dear  —  Elvira 
Julia  — the  idol  —  you  know  of  her  mother  —  and  what 
a  mother  she  had,  too,  Mrs.  Beagle  —  0,  what  a  mother  ! 
That  child  is  starved  I  She  don't  get  half  enough  to  eat 

—  I  know  it  just  as  well  as  if  the  child  had  told  me  so 
with    her    own  lips.     She  looks  puny-like.     She    didn't 
hold  up  her  head  in  church  all  sarvice  time,  last  Sunday 

—  how  my  heart  ached  for  her — I  couldn't   think   of 
nothin'  else  —  and  to  think  —  to  think,  Mrs.  Beagle,  that 
that  woman  who  warn't  nobody,  and  who'd  come  onto  the 
town   if  she  hadn't  fooled   the   old   Squire,  is  now  goin' 
to  turn  round  and  starve  his  children.     One  thing  I  do 
know,  I  shall  never  knuckle  to  her — not  while  my  name 
is  Bird  —  I'll  let  her  know  who  Mrs.  Bird  is.     She'll  find 
out  that  the  Birds  can   hoc  their  own   row  —  the  Birds 
allers  have  liv'd,  and  will  live,  I  guess,  and  they  never 
were  beholdin'  to  the  Longbows,  nuther.      Starve  a  child  ! 

—  and  if  she  thinks  I  ever  mean   to   know  her  as  any- 
body but  old  Poll  Graves,  she  is  most  grandly  mistaken. 
I'll  jist  tell  her  who   old   Graves,  her   father,  was,   and 
what  he  was,  and  how  he  used  to  drink,  the  old   brute. 
She  knows  it  all  —  but  she  thinks  Mrs.  Bird  forgets  such 

18 


2U  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    OR 

things  —  but  Mrs.  Bird  don't  forget  such  things  —  she 
has  a  long  memory  —  and  her  mother  warn't  none  too 
good,  nuther  —  I  could  touch  her  up  a  little  on  that. 
Starve  a  child  !  Lord-a-massey,  I  s'pose  she  thinks  she 
is  the  queen  of  Puddleford,  now,  and  can  do  as  she  has  a 
mind-ter.  If  she  don't  run  agin  a  snag  some  day,  then 
call  Sally  Bird  a  liar,  that's  all.  Pride  must  have  its  full, 
Mrs.  Beagle  ;  "  and  here  Mrs.  Bird  took  the  first  long 
breath,  after  entering  the  house. 

"  How  —  you  —  do  —  talk  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Beagle, 
her  eyes  half  started  from  her  head.  "  I'd  thought  just  as 
much,  but  dare  not  say  so." 

"Darsen't!  darsen't!  "  popped  Mrs.  Bird,  "  Well,  thank 
the  Lord,  /  dare  ;  I'll  pull  down  the  whole  Longbow  nest 
around  her  ears  ;  I'll  complain  to  the  town  officers  ;  I'll 
-have  her  taken  up,  and  then  let  her  show  her  hand  ;  to 
think  that  the  child  of  that  dear,  good  woman  we  lov'd 
so  much,  should  be  starved !  And  that  ain't  all  :  old 
Longbow  is  one  of  the  most  miserablest  men  livin'  ;  ho 
don't  have  a  minute's  peace  day  nor  night ;  he  rolls  and 
tumbles,  and  talks  to  himself — thinks,  in  his  dreams, 
that  his  former  wife  is  back  agin,  and  he  talks  to  her  jest 
as  if  she  was;  he  hain't- had  a  full  meal  for  a  month. 
She  is  the  stingiest  of  all  mortals  !  She  liv'd  on  nothin' 
afore  she  was  married  —  why  she  counts  the  very  coffee 
kernels  she  uses  —  she  allers  was  afraid  of  goin'  to  the 
poor-house  —  pity  she  hadn't-er  gone  —  but  la-sa-me,  you 
can't  get  one  of  the  Longbows  to  say  a  word  about  it  — 
they  are  as  whist  as  mice  —  fairly  caught  —  less  said  the 
better,  you  know  —  they  are  so  everlastin'  etarnal  proud, 
the  hull  pack  on  'em  would  die  before  they'd  let  anything 
out  —  but  they  can't  deceive  Mrs.  Bird  —  murder  will 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  275 

out  —  starve  a  child  !  "  and  here  Mrs.  Bird  took  another 
long1  breath. 

Mrs.  Beagle  looked  still  wilder,  if  possible,  than  be- 
fore. But  she  was  a  very  cautious  woman,  as  has  been 
seen.  There  was  a  method  in  her  malice.  "  She  had 
thought  for  a  long  time/7  she  said,  "  that  affairs  were  all 
wrong-end-foremost  at  the  Longbows.  She  could  see 
some  things  too.  But  she  didn't  want  to  say  a  word 
agin  nobody.  She  had  allers  tried  to  be  a  keerfu\  woman 

—  and  she  was  a  keerful  woman  —  and  although  she  said 
it,  who  had   not  orter  say  it,  she  was  a  keerful  woman. 
She  tried  to  live  in  peace  and  Christian  charity  with  every- 
body—  and   she  would  put    up  with  enymost  anything1 
rather  than  to  have  hard  feelings  'gin  anybody.      She  had 
allers   been  a  friend  of  Mrs.   Longbow,  and  was  really 
glad  when  she  heard  she  had  at  last  got  married,  for  she 
did  think  she  would  make  a  good  wife  —  she  had  orter, 
for  Squire  Longbow  had  been  the  makin'  on  her,  and  had 
set  her  up  in  the  world  for  swmthin'  —  but  things  warn't- 
er  a-goin'  right,  that  she  know'd,  and  had  know'd  it  for 
a  long  time  ;  the  old  Squire  looked  as  cowed-\ike  as  if  he'd 
give  all  his  old  shoes  to  see  his  old  wife  back  agin  —  he 
didn't  look  so  chirck  as  he  used  to  do  —  but  then  she 
didn't  want-er  say  nothin'    about  it,    for  there  was  one 
thing  she  didn't  do  —  she  didn't  talk  about  her  neighbors 

—  if  there  was  any  kind  of  people  that  she  did  hate,  it 
was  the  slanderers  —  she  never  slandered  nobody  —  but 
she  allers  did  know  that  Mrs.  Longbow  was  tighter  than 
bark  to  a  tree  —  she  used  to  jest  keep  soul  and  body  to- 
gether 'fore  she  married  —  a   leetle  too  tight  to  be  honest 

—  there  wern't  no  slander  in  that  —  she  hadn't  said  she 
was  dishonest,   nor   she   waru't   a-goin'   to   say   it  —  she 


276  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

would  skin  a  copper  the  closest  of  anybody  she  ever 
see'd  ;  such  people  can't  be  honest  —  they  will  cheat  in 
the  dark  —  not  that  she  meant  to  say  that  Mrs.  Long-bow 
would  cheat  —  she  slandered  nobody  —  but  the  child  did 
look  7i0 //"-starved,  and  anybody  could  see  it  with  one  eye, 
and  you  can't  learn  old  dogs  new  tricks  —  what's  bred  in 
the  bone  stays  there — and  the  old  Squire's  darter,  Livinny, 
looks  like  death,  too  —  she's  lost  a  mother,  and  it'll  be  a 
long  time  before  that  woman  will  fill  her  place  —  this  is 
between  you  and  rne,  Mrs.  Bird  —  'twarn't  no  longer 
than  t'other  day  that  Mrs.  Swipes  told  me  that  old  Long- 
bow wanted  to  marry  Mary  Jane  Arabella,  but  Mrs.  Swipes 
said  she  jest  put  her  foot  down  and  said  No  !  and  he's 
been  cross-grained  at  her  ever  since.  Well  —  well  —  so 
it  goes." 

Aunt  Sonora  dropped  in  "to  take  a  breath/'  as  she 
said.  Mrs.  Bird  and  Mrs.  Beagle  had  to  repeat  to  her 
the  new  developments  in  the  Longbow  family,  with  some 
new  additions. 

Aunt  Sonora  said  she  never  did  have  any  faith  in  second 
wives.  "Depend  upon't,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  no  good 
comes  out  on  'em.  And  the  old  maids  were  the  very 
worst  on  'em  all.  They  were  the  awfullest  dead-settcst 
people  she  ever  know'd.  They  will  have  their  way. 
They  allers  rule  the  roost.  She  guessed  that  her  old  man 
knew  when  he  was  well  off.  He  hated  second  marriages 
like  pizen." 

Finally,  the  women,  after  exhausting  themselves,  all 
agreed  to  adjourn  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Swipes,  to  see 
what  could  be  done  to  improve  the  domestic  arrange- 
ments of  the  Longbow  family.  Mrs.  Bird  said  at  first 
sh?  wouldn't  move  an  inch,  to  see  Mrs.  Swipes  or  any- 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  27 7 

body  else,  for  it  wasn't  no  business  of  her'n,  but  then  she 
know'd  that,  if  it  was  her  child,  and  she  was  dead,  and 
Mrs.  Longbow  wasn't  dead,  Mrs.  Longbow  would  do 
just  as  she  did. 

Mrs.  Swipes  was  delighted  to  see  such  a  crowd  of  her 
friends,  but  declared  "  she  couldn't  for  the  life  of  her  tell 
what  was  up." 

By  the  time  the  "  ladies  "  had  arrived  at  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Swipes,  they  were  very  highly  charged  with  elec- 
tricity. They  had  lashed  themselves  into  a  very  respect- 
able sort  of  fury.  Even  Aunt  Sonora,  amiable  as  she 
was,  muttered  to  herself,  while  crossing  the  road  — 
"  Starve  a  child  !  " 

Nobody  ever  told  Mrs.  Swipes  any  news — that  was 
not  possible  —  she  had  always  heard  of  it,  seen  it,  or  ex- 
pected it ;  the  most  astounding  development  was  no  more 
than  she  had  "  allers  known  would  come  about.7;  There 
was  no  story  so  large  that  it  was  unexpected,  or  beyond 
her  power  to  add  a  little  to  it  —  no  black  so  black,  that 
she  couldn't  make  it  a  little  blacker  —  no  slander  so  pub- 
lic, but  that  she  had  heard  a  little  more  than  her  neigh- 
bors of  it.  A  piece  of  scandal  melted  like  sugar  in  her 
mouth,  and  it  seemed  to  send  a  glow  over  her  whole  be- 
ing while  she  digested  it ;  it  braced  her  up  for  a  whole 
day,  and  carried  her  through  the  most  fiery  domestic 
trials  —  no  story,  therefore,  ever  lost  strength  or  sting 
while  in  her  keeping  —  it  gathered  weight  and  power  like 
a  snowball  —  she  paid  it  out  with  interest.  Her  hus- 
band, Zeb  Swipes,  she  didn't  like,  for  he  did  not  care  a 
pin  about  his  neighbors,  "  'specially  the  women  folks,7' 
as  he  said  ;  and  Mrs.  Swipes  declared  she  never  could 
interest  him  in  the  wickedness  of  the  place.  Many  a 


278  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

time  she  had  talked  him  to  sleep,  flaring,  and  foaming,  and 
fretting  about  Puddlefbrd. 

When  Mrs.  Bird,  and  Beagle,  and  Aunt  Sonora  en- 
tered Mrs.  Swipes's  room,  the  clap  burst  at  once  from  the 
whole  delegation. 

"  Don't  you  thLik  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Did  you  ever  !  "  snapped  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Pretty  doin's  these  !  "  chimed  in  Aunt  Sonora. 

"That  that  thing!"  —  "that  Longbow  woman,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Starve  !  "  added  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Yes,  starve  !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  A  child  !  "  groaned  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  Yes,  a  child  !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  And  to  think  !  "  said  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Yes,  to  think  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Only  to  think  !  "  repeated  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  That,"  continued  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Yes,  that,"  said  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  What  she  was,"  said  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Only  — jest  —  to  —  think,"  screamed  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Nobody,"  continued  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Nobody  at  all!"  snapped  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  But "  —  said  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  But  what?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  But  —  old  —  Poll  —  Graves  1  "  screamed  the  whole 
three  together. 

"  Hadn't  the  second  gown  to  her  back,"  added  Mrs. 
Bird. 

"  Foller'd  sowing,  too,  for  a  livin',"  hinted  Mrs. 
Beagle. 

"  And  glad  enough  to  get  it,  too,"  sputtered  Mrs.  Bird. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  279 

"  Couldn't-er  worn  Squire  Longbow's  old  shoes,  then/' 
said  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  Arid  now  she  puts  on  more  ker-ink-tums  than  the 
governor's  darter/'  spit  out  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Starve  a  child  !  "  exclaimed  another. 

"Yes,  starve  a  child!"  chimed  in  all  the  rest,  in  a 
most  furious  tone  of  malicious  spite  that  almost  raised 
the  roof.  When  the  storm  had  spent  itself  on  the  head 
of  Mrs.  Swipes,  who  stood  it  with  philosophy,  for  she 
liked  it,  all  hands  "  set  in  "  to  tell  her  of  the  barbarous 
cruelty  of  Mrs.  Longbow. 

Mrs.  Swipes  replied,  "  that  nothin'  more  could  have 
been  expected  on  her  —  old  Longbow  might-er  known 
she'd-er  taken  the  very  hide  off  on  him,  and  off  all  on 
'em  —  if  he  didn't  know  what  Poll  Graves  was,  then  it 
was  his  fault ;  if  he  hadn't  liv'd  long-er  enough  in  this 
community  to  find  her  out,  then  the  old  fool  ought-er  suf- 
fer—  good  'nough  for  him.  He  tried  to  get  our  Mary 
Jane  Arabella,  'fore  he  went  arter  her  —  but  I  let  him 
know  that  /  was  the  mother  of  that  gal.  He  found  that 
Mrs.  Swipes  had  a  word  to  say,  and  it  took  me  to  send 
the  old  codger  adrift  —  it  jest  did.  It's  'nough  to  make 
one's  blood  run  cold  to  see  the  highty-tighty  airs  that 
woman  puts  on.  Last  Sunday  she  had  on  all  of  old 
Mrs.  dead  and  gone  Longbow's  finery-finery  —  that  bun- 
mi,  the  very  same  that  she  bought  at  Whistle  and  Sharp's 
store  —  price,  twenty  shillings  and  sixpence  —  bought  it 
not  mor'n  two  weeks  afore  she  died.  That  drab  of  her'n, 
you  know  ;  the  dear  good  woman  never  worn  it  mf  r'n 
onct  or  twict,  'tended  Deacon  Pettibone's  funeral  with  it, 
I  remember —  that  very  same  bunnit,  and  she  had  it  on  ; 
and  she  had  on,  at  the  same  time,  old  Mrs.  Longbow's 


280  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

gown,  and  shawl  too;  and  she  did  come  —  a  —  sailing- 
right  inter  church,  jest  as  if  she  was  lord  of  the  manor  ! 
I  thought  old  Mrs.  Longbow  had  rose  from  her  grave, 
and  I  shed  tears  on  the  spot.  It  made  my  blood  run 
cold.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  old  critter,  if  Mrs.  Longbow 
should  jest  come  back  agin,  she'd  make  you  scatter,  she 
would  —  she'd  tear  them  clothes  off  on  you  —  she'd  let 
you  know  where  your  place  was  ;  she'd  learn  you  to  dress 
up  inter  her  clothes.  You'd  rue  the  day  you  ever  tried 
that  game  with  her.  Starve  a  child  ?  Why,  of  course 
she  will ;  anybody  that  don't  care  nothin'  'bout  dead 
folkses  clothes  don't  care  nothin'  'bout  folkses  chil- 
dren." 

At  this  point,  the  whole  pack  made  another  dead  set 
at  Mrs.  Longbow,  with  the  exception  of  Aunt  Sonora, 
who  sat  rocking  violently,  and  taking  snuff.  It  ia  impos- 
sible to  repeat  the  jargon  that  made  up  the  hurly-burly 
that  followed.  All  the  troop  were  firing  together,  all 
kinds  of  shot,  and  epithets,  and  sentences  were  violently 
broken  up  into  fragments  by  each  other,  and  hurled  in  a 
mass  at  Mrs.  Longbow's  head  with  the  hottest  vengeance. 

It  might  have  looked  something  like  the  following : 
"  Nobody  !  "  "  Who  cares  !  "  "  I'll  let  her  !  "  "  Just 
to  think!"  "  Starve!"  "  Yes,  starve  !"  "  A  child  1  " 
"That  new  bonnit !  "  "Twenty  shillings!"  "Sowed 
foralivin'!"  "  And  sixpence  I  "  "  Yes,  and  sixpence  I" 
"  Right  in  church  !  "  "  Hardly  cold  in  !  "  "  The  poor 
child!"  "And  gown,  too!"  "Her  grave!"  "Hardly 
cold  in  her  grave!"  "Marry!"  "Was  as  poor!" 
"  Marry  my  Mary  !  "  "As  poor  as  Job's  !  "  "  Marry 
my  Mary  Jane  Arabella  !  "  "  Was  as  poor  as  Job's  tur- 
key !  "  "I  can  see  !  "  "I  only  wish  !  "  "I  can  see 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  281 

how  it  !  "  "I  only  wish  old  Mrs.  Longbow  could  !  " 
-  Goes  !  "  "  Rise  from  her  !  "  -  Starve  !  "  "  Grave  !  " 
"I'll  complain!7'  "I  wonder  ! "  "  To  the  town!" 
"  If  she  thinks  !  "  "  Starve  !  "  -  I'll  knuckle  !  "  "A 
child!"  -To  her!"  -Poll!"  "No!"  -Old!" 
"  Not  as  long  as  my  —  "  -Poll!"  -Name  is  —  " 
-Graves!"  "Bird!" 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  the  uproar  ceased, 
and  the  vixens  were  magnetized  as  instantaneously  and 
as  completely  as  if  they  had  all  been  stricken  with  palsy, 
and  their  tongues  fastened  to  the  roofs  of  their  mouths. 

Mrs.  Swipes  put  on  a  smile,  and  courtesied  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  there  stood  Mrs.  Longbow  ! 

-  Good    afternoon,    Mrs.    Longbow.     Well,    I    do   de- 
clare !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Swipes,  putting  on  one  of  her 
blandest   faces,    -  you    have  raaly  got  out    at   last.     It 
warn't  no  longer  than  this  very  morning  that  Swipes  and 
I  were  wondering  what  had  become  of  you.     Swipes  said 
he  know'd  you  must  be  sick,  but  I  told  Swipes  you  had 
so   many  cares  —  we  women  folks  have  so   many  cares, 
Mrs.  Longbow.      And  who  do  you  think  is  here  ? —  Mrs. 
Bird,  arid  Mrs.  Beagle,  and  Aunt  Sonora  —  and  we  were 
jest  a-talkin'  'bout  you  —  and  we  all  wonder'd  how  you 
did  manage  to  get  along  so  well  in  your  family  ;  "  and 
after  Mrs.  Swipes  had  chatted  and  bowed  Mrs.  Longbow 
through   the  hall,  Mrs.  Longbow  was  introduced  to   the 
nest  of  hornets  which  had  just  been  buzzing  so  uncon- 
sciously about  her  ears. 

-  Why  —  Mrs.  Longbow  !  "  cracked  Mrs.  Bird's  voice 
at  the  same  time,  jumping  from  her  chair  with  a  convul- 
sive jerk,  and  grasping  her  hand,  and  imprinting   a  kiss 
upon    her.     -You    have  —  done    it  —  now  —  you    have 


282  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

come  out  at  last.  Goin'  to  call  at  our  house,  I  s'pose. 
Let  me  see  —  it's  one,  two  —  yes  —  three  weeks  since 
you've  show'd  your  face,  Mrs.  Longbow  —  lookin'  as 
bright  as  a  spring  morning  I  see." 

"  All-er  that/'  said  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  But  then  you  have  had  so  much  to  do,"  continued 
Mrs.  Bird  ;  "  the  Squire's  house  had  got  inter  an  awful 
muss  while  he  was  a  wid'wer.  Lavinny  didn't  —  know  — 
how  —  to  —  do  —  but  the  people  say  that  it  shines  like  a 
pink  now  —  and  how  you  have  spruc'd  up  the  children  — 
I  didn't  hardly  know  Elvira  Julia  last  Sunday.  I  thought 
her  mother  had  come  back  agin." 

"  She  looked  so  happy  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beagle. 

"  And  the  old  Squire  begins  to  hold  up  his  head  agin, 
like  somebody,"  added  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  Nothin'  like  a  woman  in  a  house,"  chimed  in  Mrs. 
Swipes. 

"  Nothin'  like  it,"  said  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  Everything  goes  to  loose  ends  where  there  ain't  no 
woman,"  said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Jest  look  at  old  Fluett's  house,"  said  Aunt  Sonora  ; 
"  'tis  chaos  come  agin  —  woman  gone  —  everything  spilt 
from  garret  to  cellar." 

"  And  jest  so  at  Dobbins,"  added  Mrs.  Bird. 

"I  do  raaly  b'lieve,"  said  Mrs.  Beagle,  "  that  if  Long- 
bow had  put  off  gettin'  him  a  woman  six  months  longer, 
he'd  a  brok't  down." 

"  Jest  what  the  old  man  himself  said,"  added  Mrs. 
Bird. 

"  And  —  then  —  to  —  think,"  drawled  out  Mrs.  Swipes, 
"that  he  should  have  been  so  fort'nit." 

"  Might-er  tried  a  hundred  times,"  said  Mrs.  Bird. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  283 

"  And  got  bit,"  said  Mrs.  Swipes. 

"  Yes,  and  got  bit,"  repeated  Mrs.  Bird.  "  There  was 
a  kind-er  Providence  in  it.  There  certainly  was." 

"  Jest  what  Parson  Bigelow  said,"  added  Aunt  So- 
nora  ;  "he  said  he  could  see  the  hand-er  Providence  inter 
it,  jest  as  plain  as  he  wanted  to." 

"  Strange  world,"  said  Mrs.  Beagle. 

u  Full-er  sorrow,"  said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  Never  know  when  it's  comin',"  added  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  The  only  way's  to  be  ready  for't,  and  do  our  duty," 
said  Mrs.  Swipes. 

Thus  the  conversation  ran  on.  Mrs.  Longbow  sup- 
posed herself  looked  upon  as  a  martyr  by  the  crowd  of 
il  friends "  among  whom  she  had  unconsciously  fallen, 
and  felt  almost  crushed  by  the  weight  of  sympathy 
which  they  had  so  gratuitously  thrust  upon  her ;  and  fin- 
ishing her  call,  returned  to  her  domestic  labors  with  a 
lighter  heart,  and  a  satisfied  conscience,  while  those  she 
left  behind  her,  on  her  departure,  took  the  advantage  of 
her  absence  to  completely  finish  up  the  remainder  of  the 
woman's  reputation. 


284  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Appeal  of  Case  Filkins  vs.  Beadle.  —  Turtle's  Affidavit  and  "  P'ints." 
— Longbow's  Return.  —  County  Court.  —  Turtle  opens  his  Law 
"  P'ints."  —  Bates  replies. — A  Fight.  —  Collateral  Ish-ers.  — 
Squire  Longbow  present. — The  Court  sustains  Squire  Longbow. 
—  Turtle  gets  into  a  Passion.  —  Impanelling  the  Jury.  —  Mr. 
Buzzlebaum  leaves.  —  Mr.  Tumbleton  upsets  Ike.  —  Mr.  Flum- 
mer  is  cut  short  bob  off.  —  Ike  opens  to  the  Jury.  —  The  Trial.  — 
Charge  of  the  Court.  —  Jury  retire.  —  Can't  agree. 

AMONG  the  causes  that  were  found  in  the  county 
court  for  trial  was  the  appeal  of  Filkins  against 
Beadle.  Turtle  had  carried  it  up.  He  had  informed  the 
court  and  the  jury,  when  he  argued  the  cause  below, 
that  he  would  carry  it  up  if  he  didn't  get  a  verdict,  and 
he  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Turtle  was  a  long-winded 
attorney,  and  what  he  lacked  in  brains  he  made  up  in 
bottom.  He  could  worry  out  any  opponent  in  Puddle- 
ford,  and  drive  the  man  against  whom  he  had  no  case 
into  a  settlement,  or  starve  him  out.  Turtle  often  said 
that  "  a  man's  peace  was  worth  something,  arid  he  who 
wouldn't  buy  his  peace,  orter  sweat.  La'  was  la',  and 
if  a  man  didn't  want  to  pay  for  it,  he  ought  to  keep  out 
of  it."  It  was  necessary,  at  the  time  we  speak  of,  for 
any  party  who  desired  an  appeal,  to  make  out  an  affida- 
vit, stating  the  errors  below.  Mr.  Turtle  was  a  host  on 
an  affidavit.  He  could  raise  and  swear  to  more  "p'ints  " 
than  any  man  in  Puddleford. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  285 

Turtle's  affidavit  was  a  curiosity.  It  covered  all  the 
"  p'ints,"  as  he  called  them  —  "all  the  '  ish-ers  '  of  law 
and  all  the  '  ish-ers  '  of  fact." 

According  to  this  document,  he  set  up  error  in  the 
judgment  below  :  — 

1.  "  'Cause  the  justis'  had  counselled  with  the  defend- 
ant, and  had  sworn  to  go  for  her  anyhow. 

2.  "  'Cause  the  justis'  allowed  Sile  Bates,  one  of  the 
jurymen,  to    leave   the  jury,  and    pettifog   for  Charity 
Beadle. 

3.  "  'Cause  there  wern't  but  five  jurymen  to  try  the 
cause,  and  there  had  orter  been  six. 

4.  "  'Cause    counsel    hadn't    mor'n    half  got  through 
arguing  the  case  to  the  jury,  when  the  justis'  shut  them 
off,  and  forcibly  sent  out  the  jury  to  deliberate  on  their 
verdict. 

5.  "  'Cause  the  justis'  err'd  in   everything  from  the 
beginnin'  to  the  end  of  the  cause. 

6.  "  'Cause  he  'low'd  Charity  Beadle's  set-off,  which  was 
agin  all  kind-er  law,  and  aever  heer'd  on  in  the  books. 

7.  "  'Cause  the  justis'  drank  liquor  while  he  was  try  in' 
the  cause. 

8.  "  'Cause  the  justis'  got  inter  a  passion  while  he  was 
tryin'  the  cause. 

9.  "  'Cause  the  jury  got  drunk  while  they  were  tryin' 
the  cause. 

10.  "  'Cause  liquor  was  sold  clus  by  the  court  room  all 
the  time  they  were  tryin'  the  cause. 

11.  "  'Cause  one  of  the  jurymen  warn't  fit  to  sarve  — 
he  bein'  no  voter  —  or  if  he  was,  he  never  had  voted. 

12.  "  'Cause,  as  he  understood,  the  jury  fiopp'd  a  cop- 
per to  see  who  should  win  the  cause. 


286  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

13.  "  And,  finally,  the  verdict  warn't  no  verdict,  'cause 
the  jury  didn't  agree." 

Here  were  "  points  "  enough  to  overthrow  the  most 
righteous  cause  in  the  world.  This  affidavit  was  filed 
before  Squire  Longbow,  within  the  time  prescribed  by 
statute,  as  appeared  by  the  return  of  the  magistrate  to 
the  county  court,  and  the  return  itself  of  Squire  Longbow 
was  also  spread  out  as  large  as  life  on  the  files  of  the 
same. 

If  there  was  anything  that  Squire  Longbow  did  pride 
himself  upon,  it  was  his  returns  to  county  court.  He 
had  often  said,  "  that  he  would  like  to  see  the  man  who 
could  pick  a  flaw  in  one  of  his  papers."  He  said  "  that 
none  of  his  decisions  had  ever  been  '  squashed  '  by  the 
upper  courts.  He  knew  what  la'  was,  and  when  a  man 
knew  the  law,  he  would  allers  be  sustained." 

I  do  not  know  as  it  is  worth  while  to  give  the  full 
return  of  the  Squire  to  the  threatening  array  of  legal 
objections  found  in  Turtle's  affidavit.  He  argued  every 
one  of  them  as  if  his  very  existence,  both  as  a  man  and 
a  magistrate,  depended  on  the  result.  In  substance,  he 
returned  to  the  first  point,  — 

"  That  of  course  he  counselled  some  with  both  of  the 
parties.  He  didn't  want  folks  quarrellin'  'bout  nothin' 
—  a-spendin'  their  time  and  their  money  —  and  how 
could  he  know  anything  about  the  case,  if  the  parties 
didn't  tell  him.  He  was  a  sworn  officer,  bound  to  do 
his  duty,  or  throw  up  —  if  he  should  ish-er  papers  for 
everybody  that  axed  him  to,  without  lookin'  into  the 
case,  he  wouldn't  do  nothin'  but  try  causes.  His  time 
was  worth  sumthin',  as  well  as  other  folkses.  It  was  his 
business  to  see  that  every  plaintiff  had  a  case,  and  that 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  287 

every  defendant  had  a  defence.  Turtle  counselled  with 
him  first,  and  he  tho't  Turtle  had  a  case  —  but  he  lied 
to  him,  or  was  greatly  mistaken,  at  any  rate  —  Miss 
Beadle  counselled  next,  and  he  then  saw  it  was  all  up 
with  Turtle,  but  it  was  too  late  to  stop  proceedings,  for 
the  summons  had  gone  out,  and  couldn't  be  stopp'd  ;  if  it 
could-er  been,  he'd  stopped  it.77 

To  the  second  point,  the  Squire  returned,  — 

"  That  he  did  'low  Siie  Bates  to  leave  the  jury,  and 
'pear  as  counsel  for  Charity  Beadle  —  that  that  was  con- 
stitutional right — right-er  counsel  in  all  criminal  cases, 
thank  the  Lord,  was  presarv'd  yet — and  the  case  was 
a  criminal  case,  or  a  kind-er  crim'nal  case  —  'twarn't  for 
debt,  and  must  be  crim'nal.  He  couldn't  choose  counsel 
for  anybody  —  thank  the  Lord  that  was  a  personal  right  — 
Charity  Beadle  had  the  right  to  choose  her  own  counsel 
—  it  warn't  none  of  his  business  who  she  took  —  how 
could  any  one  take  her  counsel  away  from  her  by  putting 
him  outer  a  jury  —  that  would  destroy  the  constitution 
itself.  If  the  court  would  jist  look  inter  Storj'  on  the 
constitution,  he'd  see  how  that  was  ;  and  if  he  ever  did 
make  a  righteous  decision,  that  was  a  righteous  decision. 
The  woman  sav'd  her  case  by  it  —  for  if  ^he  hadn't  had 
any  counsel,  the  greatest  injustice  would-er  come  on't  — 
maybe  the  jury  would-er  'greed  —  and  she  —  nobody 
knows  where  she  would-er  been  now." 

To  the  third  point  he  returned,  — 

"  '  'Cause  there  wern't  but  five  jurymen,'  it  is  said. 
Well,  there  warn't.  What  of  it  ?  Five  were  jist  as 
good  in  this  case,  as  six  ;  'cause  if  five  couldn't  agree, 
how  could  six  ?  '' 

To  the  fourth  point,  as  follows,  — 


288  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  He  did  choke  off  counsel  while  they  were  argerin' 
the  cause  to  the  jury,  and  swore  the  officer  and  sent  out 
the  jury  to  deliberate.  He'd  do  it  agin,  under  like  cir- 
cumstances. They  violated  the  dignity  of  the  court  — 
there  wern't  no  order  nor  nothin'  —  everything  went  on 
hurly-burly  —  there  was  more  racket  than  if  there  was 
a  town-meetin'.  One  thing  there  had  got-ter  be,  and  that 
was  order  in  his  court —  he  might-er  sent  them  all  to  jail 
for  contempt  —  but  he  wanted  to  be  mild  with  'em  — 
he  didn't  allers  think  it  best  to  go  to  the  length  of  the 
la7  —  two  counsel  talkin'  to  the  jury  at  onct  was  agin 
all  la'  —  it  was  a  great  contempt  of  court  —  they'd  orter 
been  fin'd  ten  dollars  apiece  —  but  he  didn't  want-er 
fine  'em — he  took  a  shorter  course  —  he  acted  in  his 
discretion  —  and  he  had  a  discretion  in  sich  cases  — 
any  other  court  woukl-er  done  as  he  did,  or  worse, 
maybe.  So  long  as  he  was  magistrate,  he  meant  to  be 
magistrate  —  and  his  court  was  a  court —  and  that  thing 
people  had  got-ter  find  out,  sooner  or  later." 

To  the  fifth  point,  as  follows,  — 

"  He'd  jist  submit  that  to  the  higher  court. '; 

To  the  sixth  point,  as  follows,  — 

"  He  did  let  in  the  set-off  of  Charity  Beadle,  and  he 
did  it,  arter  examinin'  all  the  'thorities  on  that  p'int. 
He  consulted  Squire  Brown,  too,  who  did  business  down 
inter  the  State  of  New  York,  as  justis',  more'n  ten  years, 
and  who  had  a  great  many  jist  sich  cases  afore  him. 
The  Squire  said  it  was  la'  there,  and  had  bin  ever  sin' 
he  was  a  boy  —  and  York  la'  was  good  la'  anywhere. 
Story  was  dead  for  'lowin'  sich  kind-er  set-offs,  and  his 
works  were  all  in  favor  on't  —  and  it  would  be  a  likely 
p'int  for  anybody  to  set  up  that  sich  a  set-off  couldn't 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  289 

be  allow'd.  Filkina  sues  for  so  much  money  for  so  many 
slanders  —  now,  then,  he  would  jist  like  to  know,  if  five 
slanders  are  worth  ten  dollars  to  her,  if  five  slanders 
wouldn't  be  worth  ten  dollars  to  Charity  Beadle  —  and 
if  one  ten  dollars  ain't  jist  as  good  as  another  ten  dollars 

—  he  would  like    to    know   if  one  don't  suffer  jist  as 
much  as  t'other  —  and  if  one  hadn't  orter  be  paid  jist  as 
much   as    t'other.     If    you    go   lyin'    round    'bout    me, 
you've  got  to  pay,  but  if  I  go  lyin7  round  'bout  you, 
I  hain't   got-ter  pay  —  he'd  like  to  know    what  justis' 
there  was  in  all  that  —  he  didn't  b'lieve  Turtle  thought 
so  himself,  but  he  was   allers  ti^in'  to  bull-rag  the  court 

—  and  he  warn't   goin'  to  be    bull-ragg'd    by  him    nor 
nobody  else." 

To  the  seventh  point,  as  follows,  — 

"  He  didn't  know  whether  Mr.  Turtle  meant  to  be  per- 
sonal or  not.  He  didn't  know  whether  he  meant  to  say, 
right  out,  that  he  was  drunk,  or  not.  If  he  did,  he  was 
a  liar.  He  had  no  right  to  slander  him  onter  the  public 
records  of  the  higher  courts,  in  that  sort-er  way.  What 
if  he  did  drink  ?  he  had  a  right  to  drink  —  that  was  his 
business  —  when  anybody  can  say  that  Squire  Longbow  is 
unfit  for  business  from  '  licker,'  then  there's  time  'nough 
to  blow  out  at  him,  and  not  afore  —  he  shouldn't  notice 
that  p'int  any  furder." 

To  the  eighth  point,  as  follows,  — 

"  '  Got  inter  a  passion  ? '  He  did  rise  in  his  wrath  onct 
or  twict,  to  presarve  the  order  of  the  court.  lie  warn't 
goin'  to  sit  arid  be  trampled  on.  He  was  de-tar-min'd 
that  justis'  should  take  its  course,  if  he  had  to  fight  to 
do  it.  H<?  couldn't  keep  Turtle  down  any  other  way— • 
he'd  used  up  all  the  fines  in  the  staterts  agin  him,  and 
19 


290  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

that  wouldn't  do  —  he  tore  on  worse  than  ever  —  and 
he'd  jist  say  here,  it  was  high  time  the  fines  were  in- 
creas'd.  He  informed  the  court  that  Turtle  said,  '  he 
hadn't  but  one  eye,  and  that  he  couldn't  see  but  a  little 
ways — that  he  hadn't  as  many  brains  as  an  'ister — 
that  his  head  was  full-er  cobwebs  or  bumble-bees,  he 
didn't  know  which — that  his  judgment  warn't  good  on 
a  C3mmon  note-er-hand  —  that  he  warri't  up  to  the  school- 
marm,  for  she  could  read  —  and  that  he  did  get  inter  a 
passion  that  the  court  should  have  been  so  trampled 
upon  —  for  he  would  presarve  the  dignity  of  his  court 
so  long  as  he  was  magistrate  —  a  great  deal  depended 
upon  order  in  court  —  and  when  everything  was  a-goin' 
topsy-turvy,  there  warn't  no  justis'  —  he  should  allers 
use  jist  as  much  force  as  was  necessary  to  presarve 
order  —  and  get  into  a  passion,  too,  if  he  wanted  to." 

To  the  ninth  point,  as  follows,  — 

"  lie  didn't  know  whether  the  jury  were  drunk  or  not 
—  that's  their  biz-ness,  not  his'n  —  they  could  answer  for 
themselves  on  that  p'int ;  and  if  Mr.  Turtle  wanted  to 
know  how  that  was,  he'd  better  ax  'em  ;  he  warn't 
a-goin'  to  —  he  never  took  away  any  of  the  .privileges 
of  the  jury — they  were  sacred  things  to  him.  AVhen 
he  tried  cases,  he  did  as  he  was  a  mind-ter,  and  the  jury 
did  as  they  were  a  mind-ter  —  if  they  wanted  to  drink, 
he  wouldn't  interfere — 'twas  out  of  his  jurisdiction  — 
he  never  did  dabble  with  a  jury,  nor  he  never  would  — 
but  he  would  say  that  the  jury  'peared  very  well,  listened 
to  all  the  evidence  as  men  should  —  stay'd  out  long 
'nough  to  consider  on  the  evidence  and  gin  in  a  ver- 
dict, he  verily  believed,  'cordin'  to  their  oath." 

To  the  tenth  point,  as  follows,  — 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  291 

"Licker  might-er  bin  sold  clus  to  the  court-room  —  but 
it  warn't  sold  in  the  court-room  —  that  he'd  never  'low'd 
since  he  was  a  justice  —  every  man  who  drank,  went 
inter'the  6ar-room,  and  thar  was  a  strong  pe-tition  and  a 
clus  door  atween  the  two  rooms  —  he  wouldn't-er  'low'd 
a  drop  in  the  court-room  —  he  had  alters  bin  very  keer- 
ful  'bout  that  —  they  did  drink  onct  or  twict,  but  it  was 
in  the  frar-room  —  the  trial  was  very  long*  and  very 
troublesome — and  the  jury  got  dry — but  they  drank 
every  time  in  the  6ar-room,  and  not  in  the  court-room  — 
and  he  was  keer-ixA  every  time  they  did  drink,  to  'journ 
the  court,  to  save  all  questions  —  and  he  would  say  that 
Turtle  drank  as  often  as  anybocty —  and  onct,  certainly, 
he  moved  to  'journ  the  court  for  to  drink,  and  nothin' 
else  — and  now  he  goes  up  to  the  higher  court,  arid  makes 
a  fuss  'boftt  it  — the  staterts  said  there  should  be  no  licker 
sold  in  the  room  where  the  court  is  held  —  not  out  of  it, 
nor  in  the  next  room  —  and  he'd  allers  bin  a  la'-'bidin' 
man,  and  allers  meant  to  be/7 

To  the  eleventh  point,  as  follows,  — 

"  He  didn't  know  whether  the  juryman  was  a  voter  or 
not,  —  'twas  none  of  his  bizness  —  best  known  to  himself 
—  if  he  set,  knowin'  he  warn't  a  juryman,  he  orter  to  be 
proceeded  agin  by  the  next  grand  jury." 

To  the  twelfth  point  as  follows,  — 

"How  in  airth  did  he  know  anything  'bout  floppin'  cop- 
pers —  he  warn't  thar  —  he  warn't  a  juryman  —  he  was 
the  court  —  they  might-er  flopped  for  all  he  knew  —  but 
he  had  seen  Mr.  Swipes,  who  was  one  of  the  men  who 
set,  and  he  says  thar  warn't  a  copper  flopped." 

To  the  thirteenth  point,  as  follows, — 

''There  was  a   verdict,    and  it  was  recorded   on  his 


292  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

docket  —  it  was,  '  that  the  jury  couldn't  agree,  one  of  'em 
standin'  out  'cause  he  was  afeared  or  wanted  to  be  pop- 
'lar  with  somebody  ; '  and  that  was  jist  as  it  was  gin  in." 

Squire  Longbow  had  returned  much  more  matter  to  the 
court  than  he  was  required  to  do  by  his  affidavit,  which 
lias  not  been  stated  —  mere  speculations  of  his  own  about 
the  law  and  facts  of  the  case  as  they  appeared  before 
him,  all  of  which  he  said  the  court  "  orter  know." 

The  judge  of  the  county  court  was  an  enlarged  edition 
of  Longbow  himself — enlarged,  because  his  jurisdiction 
was  greater.  He  was  one  of  the  foremost  men  of  the 
county,  because  he  was-  one  of  the  most  independent. 
He  owned  a  great  deal  of  land,  and  a  great  deal  of  stock 

—  bought   and  sold  much  —  and  had  acquired  a  practical 
knowledge  of  the  way  things  were  done  in  a  new  country. 
He  had   been    school    inspector,  highway    commissioner, 
supervisor,   and    member  of  the   legislature,  and   he  was 
now  judge.      He  did    not  know  any    law,   except  what 
Bates,  Turtle,  and  other  kindred  pettifoggers  had  taught 
him  —  and  when  he  shot  at  a  case,  he  shot  in  the  dark. 
lie  was  right  half  of  the  time  upon  the  result  of  chances; 
aiid  that,  perhaps,  was  doing  as  well  as  half  the  judges 
do,   who  pretend  to   more  knowledge  in  the  profession. 
He  was  a  stumpy,   red-headed   man,  and   very    "  percus- 
sion "  in  his  decisions  —  gave  very  short  or  no  reasons 
for  them  — and  like  Longbow,  didn't  know  a  technicality 
from  a  sign-post. 

The  law   points  in  the   appeal  were  first  to  be  argued 

—  if  Turtle  failed  on  them,  he  was  then  entitled  to  a  trial 
on  the  facts. 

Turtle  argued  his  law  points  in  a  pile.  He  flung  the 
whole  return  at  the  judge  in  gross,  playing  first  upon  this 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  293 

string,  and  then  upon  that,  abusing  everybody  connected 
with  the  cause  but  his  own  witnesses  arid  himself,  until  ho 
blew  himself  almost  entirely  out  of  breath. 

lie  began  by  flattering  the  court.  "  It  was  sunthin'," 
he  said,  ' '  to  have  a  county  court  to  'peal  up  to  —  if  'twarn't 
ff  that,  he'd  stop  business  —  Squire  Longbow  had  got  so 
that  la'  warn't  la'  any  more  with  him.  When  he  first 
came  inter  the  settlement,  he  was  a  pretty  good  justis, 
but  he  was  as  woolly  as  a  sheep  now.  If  he  got  a 
crotchet  inter  his  head,  you  couldn't  beat  it  out — he  was 
worse  now  than  he  was  afore  he  got  married  the  second 
time.  The  cause  below  was  killed  by  him  —  he  was 
'torney, -and  justis,  and  jury  —  he  had  'greed  to  go  for 
defendant  from  the  start  —  had  knock'd  the  jury  inter  fits 
by  takin'  Sile  Bates  off  on't  agin  la' — had  let  folks  in 
to  swear  that  hadn't  lived  in  the  State  six  months,  and 
nobody  know'd  whether  they  were  to  be  believed  or  not ; 
but  the  presumption  of  la'  was  agin  'em  —  that  he  cuss'd 
him  for  it,  but  that  didn't  do  any  good  —  that  the  Squire 
drank  himself,  and  let  the  jury  get  drunk,  shocking  as 
the  fact  might  be  —  and  yet  he  warn't  a  drunken  man  — 
rather  a  sober  man  —  but  it  was  done  by  him  to  fuddle 
the  jury,  and  spile  his  cause  —  that  he  let  in  the  sdmight- 
i-est  set-off  he  ever  did  hear  on  —  the  very  thought  on't 
was 'nough  to  give  this  court  spasms — and  this  court 
orter  for  that,  if  for  nothin'  else,  'point  a  guar-dme  over 
him  —  that  he  told  him  when  he  did  it,  that  he'd  foller 
the  case  to  the  backside  of  sundown,  and  blow  him  inter 
flinders,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  care  'bout  it  —  that  the 
jury  did  flop  on  the  verdict,  and  the  justis'  knew  it,  arid 
his  return  warn't  worth  shucks  on  that  p'int"  —and  so 
on  for  an  hour  or  more,  until  he  became  exhausted. 


294  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Sile  Bates  rose  and  said,  "  that,  'cordin'  to  the  leturn 
of  the  justice,  Turtle's  speech  was  a  lie!" 

Mr.  Turtle  hurled  an  inkstand  and  contents  at  Bates's 
head,  which  besmeared  him  from  head  to  foot. 

Mr.  Bates  hurled  another  back  at  him,  which  emptied 
its  contents  upon  Mr.  Turtle. 

The  court  called  them  both  to  order,  reminding  them 
that  things  were  going  too  far. 

Mr.  Bates  declared  "  it  was  a  lie  I  7' 

Mr.  Turtle  said  "  he  should  boot  him  if  the  word  was 
repeated/' 

Mr.  Bates  repeated  the  word,  and  was  booted  through 
the  court-house  door. 

Difficulties  being  settled,  counsel  appeared  in  court  very 
amiable,  covered  with  ink,  ready  to  proceed. 

Mr.  Turtle  attempted  to  'pologize  to  the  court —  "he 
had  no  'pology  for  Bates. " 

The  court  remarked  that  "it  wasn't  necessary  —  the 
doctrine  of  set-off  would  apply.77 

Mr.  Bates  said  he  had  no  speech  to  make  —  the  court 
knew  the  justice  who  made  the  return  —  if  it  believed 
him,  then  Turtle  might  as  well  cave. 

During  this  uproar,  Philista  Filkins  with  her  friends, 
and  Charity  Beadle  with  her  friends,  each  troop  ranged 
round  their  counsel,  were  looking  upon  this  war  of  words 
with  the  most  intense  anxiety.  Miss  Filkins  had  attired 
herself  for  the  occasion  in  amussy  crape  dress,  apinched- 
up  hat,  and  a  black  shawl,  being,  as  she  said,  in  affliction. 
She  declared  that  Miss  Beagle  tried  to  "  spile  77  her  char- 
acter, and  she  felt  it,  for  that  when  that  was  gone,  one 
might  as  well  give  up,  and  die.  She  carried  a  deep-set 
grievance  in  her  face,  a  fixed  anguish,  which  occasionally 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  295 

broke  up  into  a  snuffle.  She  was  sustained,  however,  as 
has  been  seen,  in  her  trials,  by  a  lew  benevolent  Puddle- 
ford  ladies,  who  had  most  magnanimously  followed  her 
and  her  case,  reckless  of  time  and  money,  and  who  said, 
"  they  meant  to  see  the  end  on't,  cost  what  it  might." 

Miss  Beadle  and  her  friends  were  a  very  different-look- 
ing tempered  body.  They  were  charged  to  the  brim  with 
acid  and  red  pepper.  They  looked  and  felt  lightning,  and 
any  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  they  meant  to  fight 
as  long  as  there  was  a  hair  of  their  friend  left.  It  was 
generally  understood  that  they  had  agreed  to  "  throw  in 
around  "  and  help  Miss  Chanty  out,  and  her  case  had 
now,  of  course,  become  their  case,  and  Bates  was  as 
much  their  lawyer  as  Miss  Beadle's  lawyer — and  Turtle, 
when  he  got  "  ramptious,"  was  jest  as  '*  sassy  "  to  them 
as  he  was  to  the  court,  or  Miss  Beadle,  they  said  — 
"  and  if  they  were  not  greatly  mistaken,  he'd  see  the  day 
that  he'd  repent  on't." 

The  women  who  composed  these  two  hostile  factions 
got  into  several  side-fights  between  themselves,  what  Ike 
called  "  collateral  ish-ers"  — and  twitted  each  other  of  a 
dozen  or  more  dead  and  buried  slanders,  which  had  for  a 
long  time  been  forgotten.  Mrs.  Bird  gave  Aunt  Sonora 
a  regular  "  runnin'  over,"  as  she  call'd  it —  "  a  piece  of 
her  mind,  that  would  last  her  as  long  as  she  liv'd."  She 
told  Aunt  Sonora,  who  was  one  of  Miss  Filkins's  body- 
guard, that  "  she  was  a  pretty  old  woman  to  come  up 
thar  and  try  to  screen  that  Filkins  critter  —  she1  d  better 
stick  up  for  her  —  she  was  a  nice  old  woman  —  a  hand- 
sum  old  woman  —  a  beau-tiful  old  woman  —  she'd  better 
be  home  a-takin'  care  on  her  children  —  she'd  better  be  a 
mendiii'  her  husband's  old  breeches  —  it  would  look  a 


296  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

great  deal  better.  What  if  Filkins  had  lied  as  much 
about  her,  or  her  old  man,  she'd  ask  her  that.  Guess'd 
she'd  make  the  fur  fly  some  —  guess'd  she  wouldu't-er 
stood  it  no  longer  than  other  folks  —  guess'd  she  couldn't 
get  along  without  a  character  better'n  other  people 
—  guess'd  she  hadn't  got  any  too  much  to  brag  on,  any- 
how, if  reports  were  true  —  s'poso  she  should  rake  up  all 
she'd  heer'd  about  her,  and  go  tellin'  it  round  arter  every- 
body, where  would  she  be.  Bah!  how  I  hate  sich  folks/' 
she  continued,  putting  on  one  of  her  most  contemptible 
faces,  and  spitting  like  a  mad  cat,  at  Aunt  Sonora. 

Aunt  Sonora  was  a  philosopher  on  such  occasions. 
She  knew  the  storm  would  soon  blow  over,  and  that 
Mrs.  Bird  would  be  "round,"  to  take  tea  with  her,  in 
less  than  a  week  —  so  she  took  a  quiet  pinch  of  snuff, 
and  told  Mrs.  Bird  in  reply,  that  "  she'd  call  onto  the 
court,  if  she  cut  any  more  of  her  antics  round  her — she 
ought-er  recollect  she  was  in  the  high  court,  and  they 
didn't  'low  any  flabbergastin  in  sich  places  ;  she'd  be  in 
jail  quicker'ii  scart  first  thing  she  know'd,  and  her  hull 
pack  with  her,  if  they  didn't  keep  mighty  mum.  She 
wasn't  in  Puddleford  now,  she'd  find,  if  she  let  her  mouth 
spit  bile  at  that  rate." 

Mrs.  Bird  sobered  down. 

Squire  Longbow  was  also  present,  to  see  the  end  of 
this  famous  suit.  The  Squire  usually  followed  his  cases 
into  the  county  court,  "  to  look  arter  ;em,"  as  he  said, 
"  and  to  explain  things."  He  was  dressed  in  his  best 
suit  of  homespun,  and  also  had  on  his  most  dignified  air. 
He  did  riot  even  wince  during;  the  scathing  Turtle  gave 
him  and  his  return,  feeling  perfectly  sure  that  he  couldn't 
be  hurt  by  any  country  'torney  in  the  upper  courts.  lie 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  297 

'  ray-ther  thought  he  was  known  thar."  The  county 
judge,  in  a  very  summary  and  careless  manner,  decided, 
"  the  p'ints  Mr.  Turtle  had  raised  warn't  good  ;  they 
were  all  agin  the  return  of  the  justis' ;  and  he  must  pay 
respect  to  the  lower  courts." 

(Here  Squire  Longbow  drew  his  pocket  handkerchief 
and  blew  his  nose  like  a  trumpet,  to  call  the  attention  of 
the  by-standers  to  the  decision.) 

He  would  repeat  —  this  for  the  benefit  of  the  Squire, 
evidently  —  "  they  were  all  agin  the  return  of  the  justis', 
who  was  an  old  magistrate,  and  had  did  a  great  deal  of 
business." 

(Here  the  Squire  bowed  his  head,  by  way  of  assent, 
to  the  court.) 

"  The  court  orter  say,  further,  that  Mr.  Turtle's  affida- 
vit was  sworn  to,  and  how  he  could  have  sworn  to  such 
an  affidavit,  right  agin  the  return  of  the  justis',  was 
mor'n  he  know'd  ;  perhaps  Mr.  Turtle  know'd  himself, 
and  could  inform  the  court." 

Mr.  Turtle  said  that  was  his  business.  Mr.  Turtle  spoke 
very  short,  for  he  was  greatly  nettled. 

The  court  said,  "  it  didn't  make  any  difference  —  it 
warn't  neither  here  nor  thar — the  p'ints  were  all  squashed, 
and  that  was  his  decision  ;  costs  to  go  agin  Turtle." 

"  Agin  Turtle,"  exclaimed  Ike,  rising,  "  costs  agin 
Turtle  !  " 

"  Agin  Turtle's  client/'  said  the  court,  correcting 
himself. 

"  That  sounds  a  leetle  more  like  a  court  of  justis'," 
added  Ike  ;  "but  it  was  a  bull-head  decision,  he  would  say 
that,  if  he  rotted  in  jail  for  contempt,  that  is,  if  anybody 
could  commit  contempt  agin  such  a  bass-wood-headed 
court,  as  this  had  got-ter  be  !  " 


298  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

A  jury  was  now  about  to  be  impanelled  to  try  the 
case  between  Filkins  and  Beadle  a  second  time,  and  this 
was  no  small  matter.  The  whole  county  had  heard  of 
this  remarkable  suit,  and  had  talked  about  it,  and  each 
person  had  allied  himself  or  herself  to  the  parties.  A 
very  small  matter  will  throw  a  new  country  into  a  tem- 
pest of  excitement,  as  a  very  few  matters  of  importance 
exist  to  get  excited  about.  When  the  panel  was  filled, 
and  the  clerk  had  announced  that  fact  to  the  court,  Ike 
saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  some  of  the  most  violent  Beadle 
men  in  the  county  among  the  number.  He  had  only  two 
peremptory  challenges,  and-  if  he  could  not  remove  some 
of  them  for  "  cause,"  as  the  books  say,  "  he  was  gone 
up,"  as  he  thought  to  himself. 

Mr.  Buzzlebaum,  a  hickory-headed  farmer,  with  short 
hair,  which  stuck  up  all  over  his  head  like  a  porcupine's 
quills,  was  a  very  dangerous  man.  Ike  knew  he  was  a 
bachelor,  and  he  had  been  strongly  suspected  of  "  pay- 
ing some  attention  "  to  Miss  Beadle  ;  so  Ike  put  a  few 
questions  to  Mr.  Buzzlebaum. 

"  Mr.  Buzzlefomm,"  exclaimed  Ike,  "you  a  juryman  in 
this  case  ?  " 

Mr.  Buzzlebaum  said  he  was. 

"  Y — e — s,"  drawled  Ike,  "so  I  see,"  as  if  he  had  got 
on  the  panel  fraudulently  some  way. 

"  Know  Miss  Beadle  ?  " 

"  Yes!" 

"  You"  do  know  the  'oman  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  " 

"  Sot  up  at  her  house  any  ?  " 

"  Sot  up  !  " 

"  Yes,  sot  up ;  don't  you  know  what  that  is  by  this 
time,  at  your  time-er  life,  Mr.  Buzzlebaum  ?  " 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  299 

"Well,  what  of  it?  "  asked  Mr.  Buzzlebanm. 

"  What — of — it !  Je-ru-sa-lem  !  "  exclaimed  Ike,  slap- 
ping a  book  on  the  table,  and  looking  fury  at  the  court. 
"  The  man  says  '  what  of  it  ?  '  —  sittin'  up  with  the  de- 
fendant nights  a-courtin'  her,  arid  then  wants  to  know  what 
of  it  ?  Wouldn't  he  be  a  pretty  man  to  try  this  case  ?  " 

"  Sot  up  where  ?  "  inquired  Buzzlebaum. 

"How  do  /know  where  I  Ever  talk  of  marryin'  the 
'oman,  hey  ?  " 

11  Wai!  "  heaved  Buzzlebaum. 

"  No  wals  here ;  you're  sworn  now  ;  out  with  it. 
Didn't  you  tell  old  Soper,  if  she  warn't  so  old  and  rusty- 
like,  you'd  strike,  hit  or  miss  ?  What,  sir  ?  " 

"  Wai ! "  groaned  Buzzlebaum  again. 

"  Guilty  .  as  a  dog  ;  won't  answer  ;  is  a-goin'-ter  die 
game,  right  inter  the  face  of  the  court,"  exclaimed  Ike. 

Mr.  Buzzlebaum  began  to  scratch  his  head,  and  just 
got  an  idea  of  what  "  sot  up  "  meant,  and  declared,  "he'd 
never  sot  up  with  Miss  Beadle,  nor  nobody  else,  but  he 
warn't  goin'  to  answer  any  more  questions  ; "  and  asking 
another  juryman  for  his  hat,  which  stood  among  a  huddle 
of  hats  outside  the  jury-box,  "leaned"  for  the  door,  amid 
the  cries  of  the  court,  clerk,  Bates,  &c.,  of  "hold  on," 
"don't  go,"  "stop  him,"  "bring  him  back,  sheriff,"  &c. 
But  Buzzlebaum  didn't  return. 

The  next  juryman  who  Ike  thought  was  "  dang-rous," 
was  Mr.  Tumbleton. 

"  Mr.  Tumbleton,"  exclaimed  Ike,  "  form'd  or 'spressed 
any  'pinion  in  this  case  ?" 

"No,  sir!  " 

"  Hain't  form'd  nor  'spressed  any  ?  " 

"No,  sir!" 


300  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  Hain't  said  that  you  hop'd  the  old  maid  would  come 
out  hunk  ?  " 

"No,  sir!  " 

"  Hain't  said  that  Turtle  was  a  jackass  for  pushin'  on 
this  'ere  suit  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  1  " 

"  Hain't  thought  he  was  ?  " 

"Sir?" 

"  Pretty  clus  questions,"  said  Mr.  Tumbleton,  balan- 
cing on  one  leg,  and  looking  thoughtfully  up  at  the 
ceiling. 

"Now  don't  you  think  —  and  haven't  you  said,  that 
Turtle  was  a  jackass  for  pushin'  on  this  suit?"  inquired 
Ike,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  No,  sir  !  —  haven't  said  any  such  thing." 

"Don't  you  think  he  is,  is  the  question,  Mr.  Tumble- 
ton  ?  " 

"  Think  you  are  a  jackass  1  "  repeated  the  juror. 

"  Yes,  sir!" 

"  Very  likely  I  do." 

Mr.  Turtle  submitted  to  the  court,  if  that  "  warn't 
'nough  to  break  him  from  sittin'." 

Mr.  Bates  said,  "the  man  show'd  his  good  sense  — 
best  juryman  on  the  whole  panel." 

The  court  thought  the  juryman  was  entitled  to  his 
own  opinion  ;  it  was  not  pos-i-fee  proof  that  Turtle  was 
a  jackass  'cause  the  juryman  might  have  thought  so  ; 
shouldn't  drive  him  out  the  box  for  that. 

"  Ever  been  in  state-prison  ?  "  continued  Turtle,  re- 
suming the  examination. 

"  S — i — r  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Tumbleton,  moving  to- 
wards Ike,  with  his  arm  raised. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  301 

"Or,  in  the  county  jail,"  added  Ike,  almost  in  time, 
and  cocking  his  eye  saucily  at  Mr.  Tumbleton. 

Mr.  Tumbleton  rushed  upon  Ike,  and  upset  him,  before 
Ike  knew  that  he  really  was  in  danger. 

Mr.  Turtle  rose  in  a  very  unruffled  manner  for  him, 
and  asked  the  court,  "  if  sich  a  contempt  as  that  was  to 
go  unnoticed  —  a  regular  admitted  'torney  assaulted  right 
inter  the  face  of  the  court — he  moved  that  Mr.  Tum- 
bleton be  confined  in  the  log  jail  for  twenty-four  hours 
—  out  of  respect  to  his  honor  the  court." 

The  judge  ordered  Mr.  Tumbleton  to  be  confined,  arid 
thus  the  second  juror  was  disposed  of. 

"  You  live  up  on  Poverty  Common  —  don't  you  ?  "  con- 
tinued Ike,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  addressing  him- 
self to  a  runt  of  a  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  been  on 
short  feed,  and  who  had  strayed  on  the  jury  no  one  knew 
how. 

"  Yes,  I  do"  answered  the  man. 

"  Your  name  is  Flummer  ?  " 

"  Flum  what  ?  "  inquired  the  juror. 

"  Flum-mer,"  answered  Ike,  tartly. 

"  Well,  whose  business  is  that,  if  it  is  ?  " 

"  Mine,"  said  Ike.  "  Wasn't  old  Zeb  Flummer  your 
grandfather  ?  " 

"  Old  Zeb  ?  yes." 

"  Didn't  old  Zeb  Flummer  marry  old  Sally  Beadle  ?  " 

"  That's  what  they  say." 

''And  wasn't  old  Sally  Beadle,  Charity  Beadle's 
grandmother  ?  " 

"  S'pose  so,"  said  Flummer. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  can  just  step  out,"  said  Turtle  ;  "the 
statert  cuts  you  short-bob-off;  no  blood  relatives  sit 


302  THE  PUDDLBFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

here."  And  the  court  seemed  to  assent,  and  Flummei 
left  —  nine  jurymen  remaining1  in  the  box. 

Bates  "knocked  off'"  three  more  for  "  causes,"  leav- 
ing six  ;  and  by  this  time  the  first  day  was  about  ex- 
hausted. Talesmen  were  picked  up  from  the  by-standers 
to  supply  the  places  of  the  "  missing,"  and  the  co;jrt 
adjourned. 

On  the  next  day,  Ike  opened  the  cause  in  his  best 
style.  He  gave  a  biography  of  Philista  Filkins,  and 
dwelt  upon  her  ups  and  downs  in  this  mortal  life.  "  He 
did  s'pose,  that  if  there  ever  was  a  woman  that  had  grief, 
and  stood  it,  too,  'twas  his  client,  arid  she  was  nothiri' 
but  a  woman,  nuther.  She  lik'd  to  gone  off  with  the 
measles  when  she  was  a  child,  and  had  been  puny-like 
ever  since  ;  her  father  was  kill'd  by  an  oak-tree  More  she 
could  do  aiiythin'  for  herself,  down  on  the  Catta-ra-gus, 
leaving  a  pile  of  young-uns,  he  didn't  know  how  many. 
Her  father  warn't  rich,  but  that  warn't  neither  here  nor 
thar ;  he  was  honest,  and  paid  up  his  debts  afore  he  died, 
to  the  last  cent ;  he  was  a  man  that  struggled  a  good 
deal  for  a  livin',  but  he  got  it  ;  allers  kept  a  stiff  upper 
lip,  as  tho'  the  skies  were  bright,  and  the  sailin'  good. 
Arter  he  died,  they  were  a  most  distressed  family.  His 
client,  'bout  the  year  - — 'bout  the  year  —  [Ike  stopped  and 
scratched  his  head]  —  'bout  the  year  —  [he  had  forgotten 
when,  and  turning,  exclaimed  to  Aunt  Sonora],  When 
in  thunder  was  it  that  Miss  Filkins  came  inter  the  settle- 
ment ?  " 

11  Wai,  now,  let  me  think,"  answered  Aunt  Sonora,  — 
"  Brumijim's  youngest  boy  died  —  died  —  when  did  he 
die  ?  —  but  no  matter —  but  when  we  bought  our  brindle 
cow  —  we  got  her  of  old  lame  Gosander,  and  I  recollect 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  303 

jist  as  well  as  if  it  was  yesterday,  that  when  nay  boy  Jim 
was  drivin'  off  that  'ere  cow  from  Gosander's  —  one 
warm  spring  mornin'  —  that  he  tell'd  me,  arter  he  got 
home,  that  he  met  some  slrang-ers  on  the  road  —  arid  I 
axed  him  who  they  were  ?  And  Jim  said  —  " 

"  When  —  in  thunder  —  was  it  ?  "ejaculated  Ike  again, 
who  hung  suspended  in  the  middle  of  his  speech,  while 
the  old  lady  was  fogging  away  over  the  history  of  the 
past. 

"  I  was  jist  a-goin'  to  tell  you  !  You  needn't  get  so 
fluster'd  'bout  it,"  answered  Aunt  Sonora  —  "where 
was  I  —  0,  yes  !  Jim  said,  when  I  axed  him  —  that  he 
didn't  know  who  they  were  —  guess'd  'twas  sumbody 
that  was  raovin'  in  to  settle  —  he  tell'd  me  that  the 
woman  had  on  an  old  legun  bunnit  —  and  arterwards  I 
found  out  that  that  very  woman  was  Philista  Filkins. 
Now  you've  got  it,"  concluded  Aunt  Sonora. 

As  Ike  was  no  wiser  than  he  was  before,  and  he  could 
not  wait  to  investigate  the  point  any  further,  he  pro- 
ceeded :  "  At  any  rate,  his  client  came  inter  Puddleford, 
and  had  been  one  of  the  fust  'mong  'em  ever  sin'.  He 
warn't  goin'  to  repeat  what  he  said  afore  the  court  below, 
now,  he  would  wait  'til  he  summ'd  up.  He  warn't  goin' 
to  say  nothin'  'bout  the  unspotted  character  of  his  client; 
he  warn't  goin'  to  say  nothin'  'bout  the  defendant  nuther. 
lie  warn't  a-goin'  to  say  how  she  would  lie,  nor  how  she 
went  around  a-backbitin'  everybody  she  could  get  a  dab 
at ;  there  were  twenty  persons  within  the  sound  of  his 
voice  that  know'd  that  —  that  know'd  the  woman  like  a 
book." 

"  Yes,  sir-eel "  exclaimed  a  voice  from  the  crowd,  being 
one  of  Filkins'  supporters. 


304  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  Silence  !  "  roared  the  court. 

"  You  hear  that,  don't  you,  gentlemen  f  They  1  now  her 
like  a  book.7' 

"  No  !  he  warn't  goin'  to  say  any  thin'  'bout  the  de- 
fendant now.  He  might  say  enough  'bout  her  to  blow 
her  sky-high ;  perhaps  she  wouldn't  steal,  he  didn't  think 
she  would,  but  folks  who  do  lie,  will  steal ;  but  she  hadn't 
stole  nothin'  yet,  as  he  know'd  on  ;  he  warn't  goin'  to 
say  so  'tany  rate ;  "  and  thus  Ike  rambled  on  for  more 
than  an  hour  before  the  jury,  in  the  opening  of  his  cause, 
touching  upon  almost  everything  connected  with  the  rise 
of  Puddleford,  and  closed  by  saying,  "  That  they  only 
claimed  ten  dollars  damages ;  but  'twern't  the  money 
they  were  arter  ;  'twas  the  great  principle ;  his  client 
scorned  money  as  pay  for  her  character ;  she'd  never 
touch  a  cent  on't  so  long  as  her  name  was  Filkins  —  and 
he  might  as  well  say  that  he,  as  her  counsel,  had  'vised 
her  to  give  every  jot  on't  to  some  religws  institution,  or 
to  orphin  children,  and  she'd  do  it  too  —  catch  her  takin' 
that  money  !  " 

Bates  occupied  about  as  much  time  as  Turtle  did  in 
opening  for  the  defence  ;  the  law  permitting  both  counsel 
to  open  together,  if  they  chose  to  do  so  ;  and  he  finished 
his  speech  by  reading  Squire  Longbow's  return  to  the 
jury,  which  he  said  was  more  full  than  anything  he  could 
say. 

The  trial  went  forward.  But  I  shall  not  attempt  to  de- 
tail the  vicissitudes  which  accompanied  it  for  two  days. 
Every  question  and  every  answer  was  objected  to,  and 
entered  by  the  court  formally  on  the  record.  The  lie  was 
given  backward  and  forward  a  dozen  times  or  more  ;  the 
court  had  often  been  obliged  to  interfere  through  the 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  3Q5 

sheriff — all  the  witnesses  on  the  part  of  the  plaintiff  were 
impeached  by  the  defendant's  witnesses,  who  swore  their 
reputation  for  truth  and  veracity  was  bad,  and  that  they 
would  not  believe  them  under  oath  ;  all  the  witnesses  on 
the  part  of  the  defendant  were  also  impeached  for  the 
same  reason.  Of  course  the  reputation  of  the  witnesses 
had  been  utterly  destroyed  before  the  trial  came  on,  and 
long  before,  by  each  backbiting  the  other ;  and  when  the 
trial  closed,  and  the  arguments  were  ended,  the  case,  if 
it  could  have  been  painted,  would  have  looked  very  much 
like  a  militia  training,  without  beginning,  middle,  or 
end,  form  or  substance,  and  the  jury  were  about  as  wise 
as  if  they  just  awoke  from  a  hard  nightmare. 

The  court  charged  the  jury — and  such  a  charge  was 
never  "fired  off"  by  any  man  outside  of  a  new  country. 

Some  hundred  "  p'irits  of  la'  "  had  been  handed  up  by 
Turtle  and  Bates,  which  they  said  must  be  noticed  —  but 
Turtle's  law  and  Bates's  law  were  in  conflict  —  but  each 
one  declared  hat  his  law  was  the  law  —  and  they  were, 
they  said,  ready,  if  necessary,  to  swear  to  it  before  any 
tribunal. 

The  judge  went  off  with  his  charge  upon  the  same 
principle  that  a  man  fires  an  old  musket  into  a  tree, 
where  he  supposes  a  bird  is  concealed.  Some  of  the  shot 
must  hit,  and  the  rest  won't  do  any  harm,  anyhow. 

He  told  the  jury  that  he  had  got  somethin'  to  say  now 
—  he  was  the  judge  of  the  court,  and  the  jury  must  pay 
special  attention  to  what  he  had  to  offer.  'Torneys 
were  paid  for  their  talk,  and  the  jury  could  believe  'em 
jest  so  far  as  they  were  a  mind-ter  and  no  furder — the 
law  come  from  him  —  if  he  made  a  mistake  in  the  law,  it 
was  none  of  the  jury's  business,  that  would  be  straight- 
20 


306  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

ened  out  somewhere  else,  by  somebody  else.  He  would 
proceed  now.  The  action  was  trespass. 

"  Not  by  a  long  shot !  "  said  Turtle,  rising. 

"Or,"  continued  the  judge,  "  a-kinder  trespass  —  it 
was  one  woman  a-tryin'  to  carry  away  another  woman's 
character.  Now,  gentlemen,  there  has  been  a  great  deal 
of  evidence  in  this  case,  and  it  don't  all  'mount  to  much 
nuther  —  " 

"  'Cept  to  that  part  of  the  charge  !  "  exclaimed  Ike. 
"  'Don't  'mount  to  much  nuther." 

"  That  is,"  continued  the  judge,  "  there  ain't  much  on't 
to  the  p'int  —  and  when  evidence  ain't  to  the  p'int,  the 
court  will  knock  it  outer  the  case,  if  a  row  of  'ceptions  is 
filed  as  long  as  the  moral  law.  Now  take  the  impeach- 
ing testimony —  what  does  that  all  amount  to? — why 
just  this  :  —  Filkins'  witnesses  don't  believe  Beadle's  wit- 
nesses, and  so  they  swear  —  Beadle's  witnesses  don't 
believe  Filkins'  witnesses,  and  so  they  swear  —  and  so 
the  witnesses  on  one  side  are  just  as  good  as  the 
witnesses  on  t'other  side,  and  you  must  believe  them 
all,  just  as  fur,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  as  if  none  of 
'em  had  been  impeached  ;  and  the  court  tells  you  so. 
Any  objection  to  that,  Mr.  Turtle  ?  " 

Turtle  said  nothing. 

"  No  objection  to  that,  then.  Now,  then,  gentlemen, 
the  defendant  below  set  off  slanderous  words  agin  slan- 
derous words  she  had  used  agin  the  plaintiff,  and  I  let  it 
in  agin  here,  and  Mr.  Turtle  objected.  Gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  Mr.  Turtle  would  object,  of  course  —  he  is  'torney 
for  plaintiff,  but  I  tell  you  the  set-off  is  law,  and  I  agree 
with  Squire  Longbow,  who  let  it  in.  It  was  right." 

Squire  Longbow  drew  his  handkerchief  and  blew  a 
heavy  blast  out  of  his  nose  at  this  compliment. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  307 

"  Now,  then,  gentlemen,  slander  is  slander  —  you  all 
know  what  slander  is  —  as  I  said  before,  it  is  slander  — • 
it  ain't  refusing  to  pay  one's  debts  —  it  ain't  'zactly 
takin'  one's  property  —  though  character  is  a  kinder 
property  —  it  ain't  stealin'  —  but  —  but  —  it  is  slander  — • 
if  you  lie  'bout  me,  'tis  slander  —  if  I  lie  'bout  you,  'tis 
slander  —  if  anybody  lies  'bout  anybody,  'tis  slander  — 
it  don't  matter  what  anybody  says  'bout  anybody,  if  'tis  a 
lie,  'tis  slander.  You  can  now  see,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  what  slander  is  —  how  the  law  looks  at  slander  — 
how  it  is  laid  down  in  the  books.  This  action  is  for  slan- 
der—  arid  if  I  should  examine  all  the  books,  and  go  inter 
the  hull  subject  fully,  you  would  not  know  any  more 
'bout  slander,  gentlemen,  than  you  know  'bout  slander 
now.  Any  objection  to  that,  Mr.  Turtle  ? " 

No  objection  was  raised. 

"  Now,  then,"  continued  the  court,  "  you're  to  look 
the  evidence  all  over,  and  if  you  b'lieve  the  plaintiff  has 
slandered  the  defendant  —  I  say,  if  you  b'lieve  it — the 
court  has  its  own  notions  on  that  subject  too  —  but  'tain't 
for  the  court  to  say  —  I  say,  if  you  b'lieve,  gentlemen, 
the  plaintiff  has  slander'd  the  defendant  —  if  you  b'lieve 
it  upon  your  oaths  —  you're  under  oath,  gentlemen  — 
you  should  never  forget  you're  under  oath,  gentlemen  — 
very  solemn  duty,  gentlemen,  you've  got-to  perform  —  I 
say  if —  after  looking  all  the  testimony  all  over,  you 
b'lieve  it  on  your  oaths  —  why,  then,  gentlemen,  the 
court  tells  you,  gentlemen,  that  you  must  render  a  verdict 
for  the  plaintiff,  gentlemen,  you  must.  But  if,  gentlemen 
—  and  here  comes  the  p'int  —  the  great  p'int  for  you  to 
consider,  gentlemen,  under  oath  —  if  you  b'lieve  the  de- 
fendant has  not  slandered  the  plaintiff,  gentlemen  —  it's  a 


308  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

hard  charge,  slander  is,  gentlemen  —  if  you  b'lieve  the 
defendant  has  not  slandered  the  plaintiff,  why,  then 
render  the  verdict  for  the  defendant.  Mr.  Clerk,  swear 
an  officer  to  take  charge  of  this  jury." 

The  jury  retired  and  deliberated  one  day  and  one  night 
—  but  could  not  agree.  They  returned  into  court,  and 
were  again  charged  on  some  law  points,  about  which 
they  differed,  they  said  —  they  retired  again,  and  after 
quarrelling  another  half  a  day,  came  into  court  once  more, 
and  declared  they  differed  this  time  about  the  evidence. 
The  court  set  them  right  upon  the  particular  disputed 
point  of  testimony,  as  "he  understood  it,  when  they  ap. 
peared  a  third  time,  and  the  foreman  announced  that  they 
could  not  agree  any  way,  and  they  wouldn't  go  out  again 
for  the  court,  or  anybody  else  —  and  thus  forever  was 
ended  the  famous  trial  between  Filkins  and  Beadle. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  309 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Amusements  in  Puddleford.  —  The  Highland  Fling.  —  A  Fire-eater 
comes  next.  —  Runs  a  Sword  down  his  Throat.  —  Starts  his  Rib- 
bon Factory.  —  Borrows  Squire  Longbow's  Hat.  —  Boils  Eggs  in 
it.  —  The  Squire  gets  into  a  Passion.  —  The  Grand  Caravan  is 
posted.  —  Squire  Longbow  lectures  on  the  Lion.  —  Bigelow  Van 
Slyck  follows  on  the  Ichneumon.  —  The  Caravan  arrives.  — 
Great  Excitement.  — Jim  Buzzard  still  himself.  —  Aunt  Sonora  in 
Trouble.  —  The  Band  blows  away.  —  The  Canvas  is  raised.  — 
Terrible  Press  of  Puddlefordians. — The  Keeper  shows  up  the 
Lion.  —  Explains  why  he  has  no  Hair.  —  The  Ichneumon  is  found 
at  last.  —  The  Monkey  Ride.  —  Breaking  up. 

IE  amusements  of  a  new  country  are  on  a  scale  with 
everything  else.  As  every  people  are  set  to  some 
scale,  from  the  most  refined  and  luxurious,  to  the  most 
rustic  and  simple,  that  scale  is  always  preserved  in  what- 
ever may  exist.  Puddleford  was  not  without  its  public 
amusements.  It  was  not  beyond  the  reach  of  strolling 
vagabonds,  and  impudent  mountebanks.  These  troops, 
like  light,  penetrate  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  and,  of 
course,  visited  Puddleford. 

One  of  the  first  exhibitions  which  wormed  its  way 
among  the  Puddlefordians  was  made  up  of  a  drunken 
Irishman  and  a  vixen  of  a  woman,  a  cracked  fiddle  and 
a  greasy  fife,  all  of  whom  and  which  performed  the 
"  Highland  fling  "  with  variations  and  other  tunes  as 
the  man  declared  (there  were  no  bills),  in  full  costume. 


310  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

The  Highlander  was  drunk,  and  the  woman  was  out  of 
temper  ;  the  fiddle  was  crazy,  and  the  fife  could  scarcely 
squeak.  The  performance  opened  with  the  "  Highland 
fling,"  was  succeeded  by  the  "  Highland  fling,"  con- 
tinued by  the  "  Highland  fling,"  and  closed  by  a  grand 
display  of  the  "Highland  fling."  This  exhibition  being 
the  first  that  ever  found  its  way  into  the  settlement, 
everybody  was  delighted.  Aunt  Sonora  said,  "  she 
didn't  b'lieve  there  war  any  such  Highlanders  —  nor 
any  such  flings  nuther  —  but  the  music  was  very  purty, 
say  what  they  would." 

After  the  Irishman  and  woman  departed,  and  their 
memory  had  nearly  faded  out,  a  "fire-eater"  came  on, 
and  positively  turned  Puddleford  nearly  topsy-turvy.  He 
was  certainly  a  most  ferocious  character.  He  boiled  eggs 
in  a  hat,  hatched  chickens,  ate  tow,  and  pulled  out  rib- 
bons from  his  mouth  ;  swallowed  swords,  point  foremost, 
burned  all  the  handkerchiefs  in  the  room,  and  restored 
them  to  their  owners  again  ;  and  did  divers  more  aston- 
ishing things,  which  completely  upset  the  brains  of  the 
Puddlefordians,  and  they  began  to  think,  before  he 
finished,  that  he  was  fresh  from  the  infernal  regions, 
and  had  been  sent  on  by  Satan  himself. 

There  had  never  been  such  a  crowd  collected  at  Puddle- 
ford  for  any  purpose  as  assembled  to  see  the  wonderful 
performance  of  this  fire-eajter.  Mrs.  Bird,  Mrs.  Longbow, 
Mrs.  Beagle,  Mrs.  Swipes,  Aunt  Sonora,  and  a  few  more 
of  the  female  aristocracy  of  Puddleford,  occupied  the 
front  seats,  which  were  covered  with  green  baize,  as  a 
mark  of  respect  and  distinction.  The  background  was 
composed  of  a  very  miscellaneous  sort  of  people  —  Jim 
Buzzard  being  in  the  extreme  rear,  perched  upon  a  barrel. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  31 1 

It  was  exceedingly  fearful  to  hear  the  screams  of  the 
women,  when  the  performer  had  a  sword  half  down  his 
throat. 

"  What  is  the  man  a-goin'-ter  to  do  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Bird. 

"0,  murder! — mur-der!"  screamed  Aunt  Sonora, 
jumping  from  her  seat. 

"0,  twitch  it  out  quick  —  he's  cfto-kinM  "  gasped 
Mrs.  Swipes. 

"  See  him  !  —  see  him  !  "  exclaimed  a  dozen  voices  at 
once.  "  Stop  him  !  "  "  Run  !  "  "  'Tis  goin'  right  straight 
inter  his  throat."  "He's  dyin' !  How  his  eyeballs 
glare  !  "  "  Squire  Longbow  !  —  Squire  Longbow  !  —  run 

—  run  —  you're  a  peace  officer  —  don't  see  him  die!" 
"  There  !  0,  dear  me  —  'tis  gone  down  —  it's  outer  sight 

—  he's    swaller  d    it   now."     "  He's    got    it    inter    him, 
mor'n  three  feet  long."     "  How  it  must  cut !  "     "  There 

—  there!"      "I  see  it — he's  pullin'  it  up  agin."      "I 
can  jest  see  the  tip  end  of  the  handle  —  but  there  ain't 
no  blood  on't."      "How  can  he  get  it  out  ?"      "Well, 
if  it  ain't  a  cornin7  right  out,  I  wouldn't  say  so,  handle 
and  all!"      "0,    dear    me — whoever  heer'd  of  a  man 
swallerin'    a    sword    afore !  "      "  How    his  in'ards    must 
feel!"     And  so  on,  keeping  the  house  in  a  tempest  of 
noise  and  alarm. 

When  the  performer,  however,  began  to  make  ready 
to  run  his  "ribbon  factory,"  as  he  called  it,  the  women 
recovered  from  their  fright,  and  were  in  high  glee,  par- 
ticularly during  the  preliminary  remarks,  and  during  the 
lew-stuffing  exercises.  He  was,  beyond  all  question,  a 
very  funny  man,  and  said  a  host  of  very  funny  things. 
He  threw  himself  into  many  strange  shapes,  twisted  his 


312  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

face  out  of  form  —  looked  gay  and  looked  solemn  by 
turns,  and  kept  the  house  in  a  continual  burst  of  merri- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Bird  declared  "  she  should  die  a  lafin'." 

Aunt  Soriora  said  "it  did  seem  as  if  her  sides  would 
split  right  open." 

Mrs.  Swipes  said  "  she  know'd  that  it  did  beat  all  — 
he  was  the  oddest  critter  that  ever  com'd  into  the  set- 
tlement." 

Ike  Turtle  said  "  he  was  sum,  if  not  more." 

Bates  declared  "  he  must  stay  over  another  night." 

Squire  Longbow  said  but  little.  He  sat  and  shook  his 
sides.  "  It  was  as  good  as  anything  he  ever  see'd  down 
on-ter  the  Susquehannas.  He  was  so  glad  the  man  had 
come  so  far  jist  to  amuse  'em  a  little." 

But  when  the  man  began  deliberately  to  light  up  the 
tow,  and  to  set  his  mouth  all  in  a  blaze,  the  screams  com- 
menced again. 

"  He  will  blow  up  —  he  will  blow  up  !  "  said  one. 

"  He's  all-on-a  fire  !  "  another. 

11  How  the  sparks  do  fly  out  of  his  mouth  ! " 

11  'Tis  fire  !     ?Tis  raal  fire  !  " 

-0  —  d-e-a-r!" 

"  Take  him  some  wa-tef !  " 

"I  say,  mister  —  mister,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Longbow, 
who  had  become  really  frightened,  and  who  could  sit 
still  no  longer,  when  he  saw  the  man  positively  burn- 
ing up  —  "  Did  you  really  mean  to  set  that  tow  on  fire  ? 
Don't  it  burn,  mister?  Don't  you  want  some  help?  I 
say,  sir,  ims-ter!  " 

The  man  answered  by  blowing  a  stream  of  sparks  out 
of  his  mouth  straight  at  the  Squire,  who  started  back  in 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  313 

terror,  and  overset  Mrs.  Longbow,  who  uttered  an  un- 
earthly scream. 

The  fire  flickered  out  at  last,  and  order  was  restored. 

This  was  followed  by  the  "  ribbon  factory ,"  and  the 
man  pulled  a  pile  of  them  out  of  his  mouth,  of  all  sizes 
and  colors,  and  scattered  them  around  his  feet  in  the 
most  reckless  manner. 

"  Don't  tromp  on  'em/'  said  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  He  ought  to  be  keerfal  on  rem,"  said  another. 

"  If  Whistle  &  Sharp  only  sold  sich  ribbons,"  another. 

"  And  to  think,"  continued  Mrs.  Bird,  "  they  come 
right  out  on  him,  too." 

"  He  keeps  'em  in  his  butes,"  roared  Turtle. 

"  They  don't  come  out  of  his  butes  at  all,"  said  Aunt 
Sonora  ;  "  they're  all  in  his  mouth." 

"  He  didn't  put  'em  in  his  butes,"  said  Mrs.  Swipes  ; 
"how  could  they  come  out  on  'em  ?  " 

"  Put  'em  in  'fore  he  come,"  said  Turtle. 

"  I  say,  mister,"  inquired  Squire  Longbow,  who  wished 
to  settle  the  disputed  point  for  the  benefit  of  all,  "  did  you 
put  them  'are  ribbons  inter  yer  butes  'fore  you  come  ?  " 

The  man  cocked  his  eye,  and  kept  pulling  away. 

The  Squire  looked  indignant. 

"  Ask  him  if  they  are  raal  ribbons,"  said  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  I  say,  mister,"  stammered  the  Squire,  again  rising, 
"  are  them  'are  raal  ribbons  ?  " 

The  man  still  pulled. 

"  Won't  answer  no  questions  !  "  exclaimed  the  Squire, 
and  he  sat  down.  The  ribbon  factory  at  last  ran  out. 

The  only  other  exercise  of  importance  was  cooking 
eggs  in  a  hat.  The  performer  had  borrowed  the  Squire's 
hat  in  the  most  polite  way  possible,  saying,  "  he  would 


314  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

confer  a  great  favor  upon  him  for  the  loan  of  it  for  a 
few  moments  ;  it  would  BO  much  aid  him  in  h/s  feats. 
It  was  just  the  hat  he  wanted  —  it  was  sometimes  diffi 
cult  for  him  to  find  just  the  hat  —  but  the  Squire's  hat 
filled  his  eye  to  a  dot.7' 

Now  the  Squire's  hat  was  the  most  remarkable  hat  in 
all  Puddleford.  It  was  a  broad-brimmed  affair,  "  raal 
beaver/7  he  said,  which  he'd  worn  mor'n  twenty  years. 
He  bought  it  down  on  the  "  Susquehannas,77  and  had 
watched  it  with  sacred  care  ever  since  he  had  owned  it. 
lie  wore  it  on  Sunday,  Fourth  of  July,  on  town-meeting 
days,  and  on  all  special  occasions.  lie  kept  it  the  rest 
of  the  time  in  a  closet  in  the  "  cham-bcr,"  covered  with 
a  piece  of  "ile-cloth,"  which  was  about  as  ancient  as 
the  hat.  There  was  one  grease  spot  on  it,  and  only  one, 
and  there  was  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  settle- 
ment who  did  not  know  how  it  "  come  on,77  for  the 
Squire  had  detailed  the  circumstances  that  led  to  the 
catastrophe,  a  hundred  times. 

The  hat  was  set  upon  the  floor,  and  the  performer 
brought  out  a  basket  of  eggs,  and  bowing  gracefully, 
holding  one  in  his  hand  at  the  same  time,  said  he  would 
cook  a  dozen  in  that  hat,  pointing  to  the  Squire's  hat 
significantly. 

"  S-i-r  !  77  exclaimed  the  Squire. 

"Keep  easy,  sir  !  77  said  the  man. 

"  In  —  my  —  hat!  7' 

"  Yes,  sir  !  in  your  hat!  " 

"In  my  beaver  hat  ?  77 

"  Yes,  sir  !  77 

"  Cook  eggs?" 

"  Yes,  sir  !      Cook  'em  I" 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  315 

"That  hat !" 

"  Yes,  sir  !     I  say  that  hat !  " 

"  Down  in  front !  "  exclaimed  Turtle  ;   "  can't  see.'7 

"  That  hat !  "  gasped  the  Squire  again. 

•'He's  gummin'  you/'  roared  Turtle;  "can't  cook 
eggs  in  a  hat.  Down  in  front !  " 

Squire  Longbow  was  very  much  excited,  and  had  turned 
very  red  in  the  face.  He  could  not  help  but  think  what 
his  first  wife  would  say  if  she  was  there  —  what  she 
would  say  if  she  saw  that  hat  with  eggs  "  a-biliu'  "  in 
it  —  but  perhaps  the  showman  was  "  a-tryin'  "  to  scare 
him,  as  Turtle  said  —  he  would  wait  a  little  and  watch 
him  closely. 

"Arid  now/'  said  the  performer,  "examine  this  egg 
—  it  is  a  real  egg  —  and  now  you  see  me  break  it  —  and 
now  it  is  broke  —  and  now/'  cracking  it  apart  with  his 
thumb  nails,  and  looking  down  into  the  Squire's  hat  — 
"  there  it  goes  I  " 

"  Twenty-five  dollars  !  twenty-five  dollars  for  that !  " 
ejaculated  the  Squire,  filled  with  fury,  and  jumping 
towards  the  performer,  with  his  fist  doubled,  and  his 
teeth  firm  set.  "You're  a  great  scoundrel,  sir  —  you 
borrowed  that  hat,  sir  —  you  borrowed  it  of  me,  sir  — 
it  is  my  hat,  sir,  that  you've  got,  sir  —  my  name  is 
Longbow,  sir  —  Squire  Longbow,  sir  —  that's  my  beaver 
hat,  sir  —  twenty  years  old,  sir — cost  ten  dollars,  sir!  " 

"  And  there  goes  another,"  continued  the  performer, 
amid  the  stamping  and  roars  of  the  audience,  popping 
another  egg  into  the  Squire's  hat,  in  the  coolest  manner 
possible,  disregarding  the  tempest  around  him. 

"I  call  upon  Mr.  Turtle  to  witness!"  continued  the 
Squire;  "I'll  ish-er  a  warrant  for  you,  sir  —  I'll  have 


316  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

you  up,  sir —  before  me,  sir —  you  can' t  pay  me  for  that 
''ere  hat,  sir  —  you'll  be  imprisoned  —  you'll  go  to  jail, 
sir  —  you  won't  spile  any  more  people's  hats,  sir  —  you 
won't  bile  eggs,  arter  this,  sir  —  it's  your  last  bilin', 
sir  —  " 

By  this  time  the  smoke  was  rising  out  of  the  Squire's 
hat  and  curling  away  towards  the  ceiling,  and  the  smell 
of  cooked  eggs  was  waxing  strong  in  the  nostrils,  and 
the  hat,  so  they  all  said,  was  "  gone  for  sartin." 

"  La ! "  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora,  as  she  saw  the  fate 
of  the  hat,  "  what  wicked  critters  these  performers  are  ; 
sit  right  down  and  burn  up  a  hat —  a-bilin'  eggs  in  it !  " 

The  performer  returned  Squire  Longbow's  hat,  after  he 
had  concluded  his  wonderful  experiment  of  cooking  eggs, 
but  the  old  man  looked  upon  it  with  suspicion.  He 
turned  it  over  and  over,  and  smelled  of  it,  but  declared,  at 
last,  that  it  was  his  old  beaver,  and  jest  as  good  as  new ; 
whereupon  he  apologized  for  his  getting  into  a  passion, 
and  gave  as  a  reason,  that  it  "  was  the  first  time  he  ever 
saw  the  trick  done  —  but  now  he  know'd  the  man  was 
a  gentleman,  every  inch  on  him." 

But  the  most  remarkable  exhibition  that  ever  fell  upon 
Pttddleford  occurred  after  this.  A  caravan  of  wild 
animals,  about  the  autumnal  days,  took  Puddleford  in 
its  way.  It  was  called  the  grand  caravan.  Quite  a 
flaming  poster  preceded  the  animals  themselves.  The 
bill  was  indeed  a  very  attractive-looking  affair.  There 
was  a  lion  and  a  tiger  painted  on  it,  at  a  dead  lock. 
The  lion,  it  appeared,  had  opened  the  tiger's  bowels, 
and  the  tiger  had  opened  the  lion's  bowels  —  the  lion 
had  torn  the  tiger's  head,  and  the  tiger  had  torn  the 
lion's  head  —  these  two  furious  beasts  seemed  to  be 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  317 

about  on  an  equal  footing.  An  elephant  was  also  por- 
trayed in  a  very  stately  manner,  carrying  a  house  full  of 
people  on  his  back,  who  were  armed  to  the  teeth,  for 
some  unknown  purpose,  and  who  also  supported  a  stern- 
looking  gentleman,  seated  upon  his  tusks,  who  carried  a 
long  pole  in  his  hand.  Monkeys  of  all  sizes  were  scat- 
tered around  the  picture.  Some  climbing  trees,  some 
chattering  higher  up  in  the  branches,  and  some  cutting 
curious  antics,  evidently  for  the  gratuitous  amusement 
of  the  public  who  might  choose  to  look  on.  This  bill 
was  posted  up  at  the  Eagle,  and  it  created  a  very  great 
excitement  throughout  Puddleford  and  the  adjacent  coun- 
try. Scores  of  people  came  in  from  "  round  about,"  to 
wonder  over  and  digest  this  wonderful  "picter."  Aunt 
Sonora,  Mrs.  Swipes,  Mrs.  Bird,  Mrs.  Beagle,  Mrs. 
Longbow,  and  their  husbands,  the  "  Colonel,"  Bigelow 
Van  Slyck,  Jim  Buzzard,  and  scores  of  ragged  children, 
pressed  into  the  bar-room,  day  after  day,  and  "  Oh'd  " 
and  "  Ah'd  "  over  it.  All  kinds  of  comments  were  made 
by  the  multitude.  The  origin,  history,  habits,  and  fe- 
rocity of  the  animals  were  sagely  discussed  and  settled. 
Squire  Longbow,  among  the  rest,  told  wonderful  stories 
about  the  "roar"  of  the  lion  —  how  he  "  shak't  the 
whole  woods,  when  he  got  his  wrath  up,  and  made  all 
the  other  animals  run  and  hide  themselves  —  he  said 
they'd  all  have  to  stop  their  ears  if  that  feller  (pointing 
to  the  said  lion  on  the  show-bill)  giv'  'em  a  blast  —  he 
heer'd  one  roar  onct,  down  onter  the  Susquehannas,  and 
he  shouldn't  forget  it  the  longest  day  he  lived." 

Aunt  Sonora  inquired  of  Squire  Longbow,  "  where 
lions  came  from,  and  how  they  got  'em  here,  and  if  they 
were  dang-rous  animals,  and  would  bite  people." 


318  THE  PUDDLEFORD   PAPERS,    CR 

The  Squire  drew  a  long  a-hem  !  stretched  out  his  legs, 
and  looked  very  wise,  for  he  thought  if  there  was  any- 
thing that  he  did  know  about,  it  was  about  lions.  He 
recollected  just  how  that  lion  looked  that  he  saw  down 
on  the  Susquehannas.  He  knew,  too,  that  there  was  no 
other  person  in  Puddleford  that  could  throw  any  light  upon 
the  subject  of  lions.  So  the  Squire  began  in  the  most 
profound  manner  to  answer  Aunt  Sonora.  "The  lion,77 
said  the  Squire,  "the  great  African  lion — jist  sich  a 
lion  as  you  see  on  that  'ere  bill  —  inasmuch  as  you  have 
axed  me,  I  tell  you,  comes  from  the  jungles  of  the  torrid 
zone." 

Mr.  Bates  wanted  to  know  what  "  a  jungle  was,  while 
he  was  about  his  lion  story  ?  " 

"A  jungle  —  a  jungle/7  continued  the  Squire,  coughing 
in  his  embarrassment  ;  "a  jungle  —  is  —  a  —  place  —  a 
kind-er  cave,  where  the  lions  go,  deep  inter  the  airth, 
and  where  they  can  growl  and  roar,  without  disturbin' 
anybody.'1 

"  Inter  the  airth?  "  exclaimed  Turtle  ;  "  how  do  they 
catch  'em,  then  ?  " 

"  How  do  they  ketch  'em  ?  —  how  do  they  ketch  'em  ?  " 
exclaimed  the  Squire;  "how  do /know?  —  how  can  1 
tell  ?  —  I've  never  been  in  Africa  —  I  was  only  tellin' 
how  the  lions  liv'd." 

Mrs.  Bird  asked  the  Squire  what  the  lions  ate  ? 

"  Anything  they  can  get,"  answered  the  Squire,  very 
philosophically  ;  "  they  airi7t  'tall  particular.77 

"  Don't  eat  grass,  do  they  ?  " 

The  Squire  said  he  "  shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  they  did.77 

"  Do  they  eat  up  men  arid  women  ?  7' 

"  Wai/'  answered  the  Squire,  "  to  tell  you  the  plain 
truth,  I  s'pose  they  do.77 


HUMORS    OF    THE    WEST.  319 

"  0  Lordy  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bird.  "  Ugh  !  how  he 
looks !  " 

During  all  this  time  the  young  Puddlefordians,  dirty 
and  barefooted,  who  had  crowded  themselves  into  a  cor- 
ner in  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  were  filled  with  terror 
during  the  Squire's  sage  remarks,  and  fairly  trembled  for 
their  safety. 

Jim  Buzzard  took  occasion  to  say  that  "  he  s'posed  the 
an-er-mals  would  bite,  but  he  warn't  goin'  to  be  scart,  if 
they  had  'em  fastened  in  cages  —  but  if  they  were  goin- 
ter  run  loose,  he'd  be  gaul-blasted  if  they  seed  him  round 
thar  when  they  com'd  —  he'd  jest  let  'em  know  he  warn't 
agoin'  to  be  eat  up  by  their  lions  and  elephuntses  —  he 
didn't  care  nothin'  'bout  their  monkeys  —  he  warn't  'fraid 
of  them,  nohow  —  but  them  'are  lions  —  what  teeth  they 
have  got  —  0  !  mighty  I  —  guess'd  they  wouldn't  ketch 
him  round  them  grinders." 

The  bill,  among  other  startling  announcements,  de- 
clared that  "  the  celebrated  animal  mentioned  in  Holy 
Writ,  and  now  known  as  the  Ichneumon,"  would  be  ex- 
hibited —  that  it  was  the  first  time  any  company  had  ever 
succeeded  in  carrying  him  so  far  into  the  interior,  as  he 
was  very  partial  to  salt  water,  and  suffered  very  much, 
and  grew  very  faint  and  weak,  when  removed  any  dis- 
tance away  from  it. 

The  showman  had  been  very  careful  not  to  furnish  a 
picture  of  the  Ichneumon,  whose  peculiarities  had  been 
so  vividly  portrayed  in  print,  and  the  Puddlefordiaiis  were 
in  great  doubt  about  his  real  appearance.  There  were 
many  curious  speculations,  and  sage  reflections  indulged 
in  by  the  more  learned  portion  of  the  crowd,  about  his 
origin  and  history.  It  was  very  difficult,  in  the  first 
place,  to  pronounce  his  name. 


320  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Bigelow  Van  Slyck,  who  was  a  host  at  Puddleford  in 
philology,  attempted  to  give  the  most  correct  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  word.  It  was  "  Ich,  something/7  he  said  — 
"  probably  the  whole  word  was  taken  from  Ich  —  arid 
that  was  an  animal  that  scratched  himself —  and  yet  he 
didn't  believe  this  animal  had  any  hair  —  and  it  was  only 
hairy  animals  that  did  scratch  themselves  —  and  the  rea- 
son why  he  thought  the  animal  hadnrt  any  hair,  was,  that 
he  must  be  a  salt-water  animal  —  for  the  bill  said  he  was 
mentioned  in  Holy  Writ  —  and  also,  that  he  couldn't  live 
away  from  salt-water.  He  thought  he  knew  sun-thin9 
'bout  Holy  Writ  —  he  thought  he  did  —  and  sun-thin* 
7 bout  animals,  too  —  and  if  he  was  to  give  his  opinion, 
he  should  say  the  Ichneumon  was  the  great  Le-w-&-thern, 
that  went  into  the  mighty  deep  !  ;;  (Here  Bigelow  raised 
upon  his  toes,  and  spread  out  his  arms,  as  if  to  show  the 
crowd  how  big  the  great  luG-vi-n-thern  was.) 

Bigelow's  oration  produced  a  very  solemn  effect  on  the 
Puddlefordians.  The  idea  that  the  great  Leviathan,  of 
Holy  Writ,  was  really  coming  into  their  midst,  was  a 
most  astounding  thought  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
present. 

Mrs.  Longbow,  who  was  a  member  of  Bigelow's 
church,  as  has  been  seen,  wanted  to  know  "  in  what  part 
of  Holy  Writ  that  'are  Ich-what-do-ye-call-it  was  found  ?  " 

Bigelow  said  it  was  somewhere  —  he  couldn't  ;zactly 
tell  —  it  was  either  in  the  Old  or  New  Testament,  he  was 
very  —  sartin." 

Mrs.  Longbow  said  "  she'd  never  see'd  it." 

Bigelow  said  "  he'd  never  seen  him  nuther." 

Mrs.  Longbow  explained  —  "  she'd  never  seen  the  ani- 
mal in  the  Holy  Writ." 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  321 

Bigelow  thought,  "  if  she'd  look,  she'd  find  it." 

Mrs.  Longbow  said  "  she'd  look  now." 

Bigelow  said  "he  hadn't  time  now,  but  he'd  look  it  up 
by  next  Sunday,  and  preach  on't." 

Turtle,  who  had  been  carefully  watching  Bigelow  in 
his  attempt  to  identify  the  Ichneumon,  and  who  had  great 
respect  for  his  opinion  in  all  matters  connected  with  Holy 
Writ,  thought  he  discovered  a  flaw  in  the  argumeut.  He 
would  "  jest  like  to  know  how  they  could  carry  around  a 
salt-water  animal  on  land  ?  " 

Bigelow  said  "  he  warn't  alive  —  he  was  stuff'd.  It 
didn't  say  the  celebrated  live  animal  called  the  Ichneu- 
men." 

"  But  it  did  say,"  replied  Turtle,  "  that  it  was  the  first 
time  they  had  succeeded  in  carrying  the  animal  so  far  in 
the  interior." 

Bigelow  was  a  little  puzzled  at  this  —  but  said,  "he 
s'posed  it  was  in  great  danger  of  being  stolen  —  but  at 
any  rate,  the  Ichneumon  was  the  great  Levia&em,  or 
some  other  —  very  —  strange  —  animal,  —  that  he  was 
sure  of." 

Squire  Longbow,  who  had  listened  in  the  most  digni- 
fied manner  to  all  that  Bigelow  had  said,  heaved  a  long 
sigh  at  his  last  remark,  arid  declared  that  Bigelow  had, 
in  his  opinion,  "  explained  the  whole  thing  —  and  'twas 
clear  'nough  to  him  that  the  Ich-nu-men  was  the  Viathen 
—  'tany  rate,  he  know'd  the  Viathen  was  the  Ich-uu- 
men." 

The  excitement  was  very  great   from  the  time  the  bill 

was    posted    until    the  grand    caravan    actually  arrived. 

Very  little  else  was  talked  about,  or  thought  of  in  Pud- 

dleford,   and  the  region  round  about.     Every  business, 

21 


322  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

and  every  domestic  and  social  arrangement  had  reference 
to  the  coming  event.  Squire  Longbow  had  declared, 
two  weeks  before  the  day  fixed  for  the  performance,  that 
no  law  business  would  be  done  in  his  office  on  show-day. 
Turtle  had  issued  a  similar  proclamation.  Important 
financial  arrangements  were  everywhere  matured  to  ena- 
ble the  Puddlefordians  to  "  raise  the  wind,"  so  they 
might  procure  an  entrance  behind  the  canvas.  The  draft 
of  ready  money  upon  the  people  threatened  to  be  very 
disastrous,  for  the  admission  was  two  shillings  per  head, 
children  half  price  —  cash  down. 

The  caravan  was  expected  to  arrive  at  about  ten 
o'clock  in  the  forenoon.  But  the  mighty  multitude,  who 
had  some  distance  to  travel,  packed  and  provisioned,  and 
started  on  their  way  the  day  previous.  Everybod}'  was 
determined  to  be  on  the  ground  when  the  first  blow  was 
struck.  The  morning  of  the  long-looked  for  period  pre- 
sented a  spectacle  mere  stirring  and  sublime  than  anything 
which  had  ever  been  before  known.  Every  man,  woman, 
and  child  was  dressed  in  his  or  her  best.  •  Many  had 
strained  a  point,  and  appeared  in  a  style  so  rich  that  they 
were  scarcely  known  by  their  best  friends.  And  then, 
too,  every  person  appeared  to  be  so  full  of  good  humor 
and  smiles,  that  it  really  seemed  to  be  the  only  desire  of 
all  to  make  each  other  happy.  Squire  Longbow  shone 
like  a  dollar.  The  old  homespun  coat  and  beaver  hat 
wore  a  new  brightness  about  them  ;  and,  what  was  very 
unusual  for  the  Squire,  he  had  procured  a  new  hickory 
cane,  and  had  cut  "  Longbow  "  upon  it,  which  very  much 
added  to  his  dignity.  Turtle  had  actually  mounted  a 
clean  collar,  which  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  oc- 
currences of  the  season.  Jim  Buzzard,  however,  had  not 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  323 

met  with  any  change,  outwardly  or  inwardly.  He  wore 
the  same  hat,  coat,  and  boots  that  were  found  with  him 
when  he  was  first  seen  sunning  himself  on  a  dry-goods 
box,  one  morning,  in  the  streets  of  Puddleford.  The  hat 
was  a  little  more  jammed  up,  and  the  boots  gaped  a  lit- 
tle wider  —  but  he  was  still  the  same  Jim  Buzzard,  and 
they  were  still  the  same  hat  and  boots.  They  bade  fair  to 
last  as  long  as  he  did.  His  garments  seemed  to  have 
grown  to  him,  and  to  have  become  a  part  of  him  —  to 
have  formed  a  sort  of  attachment  for  him,  and  he  really 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  born  with  these  very  clothes  on. 

Jim  sauntered  around  and  said  nothing.  Sometimes 
he  might  be  seen  perched  away  off  by  himself  upon  a 
post,  overlooking  the  crowd  —  sometimes  stretched  out 
on  a  box  in  the  sun,  snoring,  and  making  ready  for  the 
coming  occasion.  He  knew  he  would  get  in.  He  had  no 
money,  but  he  was  a  philosopher.  He  let  matters  take 
care  of  themselves,  and  as  he  had  always  been  provided 
for,  he  felt  perfectly  satisfied  that  he  always  would  be. 

Everybody  inquired  very  particularly  about  every- 
body 's  family  on  that  day ;  and  why  shouldn't  everybody 
inquire  about  everybody's  family,  for  it  was  the  day  of 
the  great  caravan,  and  everybody  was  of  course  over- 
flowing with  joy.  Mrs.  Longbow  assured  Aunt  Sonora, 
that  "  she  would  sartinly  call  on  her  the  very  next  after- 
noon ;  "  and  Aunt  Sonora  apologized  for  not  having 
dropped  in  to  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Longbow,  long  afore. 
Mrs.  Bird  went  so  far  as  to  inquire  of  Mr.  Longbow, 
"  how  his  cousins/'  which  she  said  sho  had  heer'd  on, 
were  gettiri'  along  down  on  the  Susquehannas  —  the 
only  time  before  or  since  that  the  old  lady  ever  alluded 
to  the  Squire's  cousins,  down  on  the  Susquehannas,  or 
anywhere  else. 


324  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

The  grand  caravan  at  last  appeared  in  the  distance, 
preceded  by  a  cloud  of  dust,  arid  heralded  by  distant 
strains  of  music.  The  shock  was  electrical  —  the  rush 
was  immense.  The  boys  ran,  and  turned  somersets  — 
the  men  ran  after  the  boys,  and  the  women  ran  after  the 
men.  Jim  Buzzard,  disturbed  by  the  "  noise  and  confu- 
sion/' actually  rolled  off  a  box,  where  he  was  dozing  ; 
crawled  to  his  feet,  and  rubbed  his  eyes  open  with  his 
fist.  The  jam  was  really  terrific  —  women  lost  portions 
of  their  dresses,  men's  hats  flew  off,  and  somehow,  in 
the  hurly-burly  and  jam,  Squire  Longbow  missed  his  bea- 
ver hat,  cane,  and  eye-shade.  The  Squire  was  in  great 
mental  excitement,  as  well  as  in  bodily  danger.  lie 
panted  for  breath,  and  plodded  on  the  best  way  he  could. 
Even  a  man  of  his  distinction  was  not  regarded  on  that 
day.  Among  other  trials  and  reverses,  he  found  himself 
separated  from  Mrs.  Longbow,  who,  for  anything  he 
knew,  was  "  trampled  to  death/'  somewhere;  and  with 
one  eye  on  the  grand  caravan,  and  the  other  (the  blind 
one)  looking  after  his  second  wife,  he  hurried  along,  mut- 
tering to  himself  like  some  mad  animal.  He  was  dashed 
on  to  Mr.  Turtle  in  his  progress,  and  nearly  upset  that 
respectable  legal  gentleman.  Mr.  Turtle  rose,  filled  with 
wrath,  and  with  drawn  fist,  and  just  saw  his  mistake  in 
time  before  the  blow  descended.  "  0,  it's*  you,  Squire  !  7? 
said  Mr.  Turtle.  Squire  Longbow  asked  -Mr.  Turtle 
where  his  wife  was  ?  Mr.  Turtle,  very  much  excited, 
said  something  which  the  Squire  did  not  understand,  and 
pointed  nowhere  in  particular,  and  then  bounded  on  after 
the  grand  caravan.  The  Squire,  after  twisting  and  turning, 
and  panting  and  blowing,  and  after  having  overturned  three 
or  four  innocent  women,  who  happened  to  be  in  his  way, 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  395 

found  himself  at  last  out  of  the  rush,  in  the  corner  of  a 
rail  fence,  blowing  his  flushed  face  with  his  best  cotton 
handkerchief.  When  he  came  to  himself,  he  began  to 
think.  He  recollected  that  he  was  a  magistrate  yet,  and 
if  anybody  should  steal  his  hat,  cane,  or  his  eye-shade,  he 
muttered,  "  he'd  bring  'em  afore  him  by  day-light  next 
morning,  he  would  —  he'd  have  some  kinder  la'  in  town, 
if  'twas  caravan  day." 

The  fate  of  Aunt  Sonora  was  about  as  melancholy  as 
that  of  the  Squire.  She  was  somehow  drawn  into  the 
tide,  and  as  the  good  old  lady  could  not  move  fast,  the 
current  that  passed  her  on  each  side  rolled  her  round  and 
round,  as  she  stood,  first  one  way  and  then  the  other,  until 
she  became  completely  peeled  of  her  outer  clothes.  Cries 
were  jerked  out  of  her  in  a  spasmodic  way,  as  she  could 
catch  her  breath.  "Massy  —  massy  I  0,  massy  —  me! 
I'm  —  k— i— 1— 1— 'd! "  and  many  more  heart-rending  exclama- 
tions she  uttered  ;  but  it  was  the  great  caravan  that  was 
coming,  and  she  was  neither  heard  nor  heeded.  When 
she  escaped,  she  looked  as  if  she  had  been  plucked  of  all 
her  feathers  ;  she,  however,  quietly  slid  into  the  house 
of  Mrs.  Longbow,  which  was  near  by,  for  repairs.  When 
she  found  herself  able  to  speak,  she  declared,  "  if  that 
was  the  way  the  caravan  was  a-goin'  to  use  folks,  she 
hop'd  ftfe-ning  would  strike  'em  'fore  they  got  out-er  the 
settlement  —  they'd  sp'ilt  her  shillin'  caliker  dress,  and 
she  wouldn't  gin  it  for  all  the  monkeys  the  confounded 
consarn  had." 

But  the  caravan  moved  on  regardless  of  accidents,  and 
the  music  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  as  it  approached 
nearer  and  nearer ;  and  as  the  breeze  cast  aside  the  dust, 
men,  and  horses,  and  wagons  were  seen  moving  forward, 


326  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

solemnly  preceded  by  an  elephant,  which  carried  a  stately 
looking  gentleman  upon  his  tusks,  according  to  the  repre- 
sentation on  the  bill.  As  the  procession  approached  the 
village,  its  extent  and  magnificence  began  to  dwindle. 
Alas !  three  wagons  and  one  sickly-looking  elephant 
comprised  the  whole  affair.  The  people  were  evidently 
very  much  disappointed.  The  bill  was  a  very  large  bill, 
and  they  did  not  see  how  it  was  possible  for  the  few  ve- 
hicles that  came  into  town,  to  hold  all  the  live  stock 
which  had  been  promised. 

Squire  Longbow  still  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  rail 
fence,  looking  out  for  the  lion,  for  he  had  pledged  his 
reputation  to  the  Puddlefordians  that  the  lion  should  be 
all  that  he  had  promised.  He  didn't  know  whether  he 
would  come  on  foot  or  not,  housed  or  open ;  but  the 
Squire  saw  no  lion,  nor  any  place  for  one. 

Bigelow  was  busy  sharply  scenting  out  the  "  Ich-nu- 
men,  celebrated  in  Holy  Writ,"  as  the  bill  declared.  He 
felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  take  a  kind  of  guardianship  over 
the  Ich-nu-men,  while  he  might  favor  Puddleford  with  his 
presence,  because  he  was  associated  with  Holy  Writ;  but 
Bigelow  could  not  find  him  anywhere,  living  or  dead, 
kicking  or  stuffed.  He  was  much  disappointed,  but  took 
courage  from  the  hope  that  he  was  shut  up  from  vulgar 
gaze  in  one  of  the  strong  cages. 

The  musicians  still  blowed  their  blast,  as  the  cavalcade 
wound  its  way  through  the  principal  streets.  The  bill 
declared  that  the  band  was  the  celebrated  "  Boston  Band/' 
led  by  Monsieur  Huzzleguget,  and,  according  to  that,  it 
was  composed  of  some  twenty-four  performers,  drawn  by 
six  fiery  steeds,  attached  to  a  Grecian  chariot,  driven  by 
one  elegant-looking  gentleman,  heavily  whiskered,  who 


HUMORS   OF  THE   WEST.  327 

must  have  been  some  six  feet  high  ;  but,  alas  !  the  band 
itseli  that  led  on  the  animals  through  the  streets  of  Pud- 
dleford  consisted  of  only  four  seedy-looking  performers,, 
who  carried  three  rusty  copper  horns  and 'a  bass  drum, 
which  was  beat  by  a  melancholy-looking  boy.  The  three 
horn-men  had  blown  their  faces  as  round  as  pumpkins, 
and  as  red,  too  ;  or  something  besides  wind,  perhaps,  had 
blown  the  color  into  their  faces,  for  they  occasionally 
took  something  to  drink,  during  the  heat  of  the  exercises, 
from  a  bottle  which  they  kept  under  the  seat  of  the 
chariot. 

The  chariot  was  a  large  high-boarded  wagon,  and 
painted  red,  and  was  drawn  by  a  couple  of  jaded  "  tugs,77 
who  showed  plainly  enough  that  their  days  were  fast 
drawing  to  a  close.  But  the  music  still  blowed,  and  the 
procession  moved  on,  and  the  Puddlefordians  were  as 
much  delighted  as  if  the  proclamation  had  been  fully 
realized. 

Up  went  the  canvas,  and  the  show  prepared  to  open. 
The  hurry  to  enter  was  most  marvellous  —  such  a  crowd 
Puddleford  never  saw  before.  Even  Squire  Longbow 
could  not  wait  until  the  doors  were  actually  opened.  He 
was  bewitched  to  see  the  great  African  lion.  The  Squire, 
as  a  peace-officer,  ordered  the  crowd  to  keep  back,  in 
reality  for  the  purpose  of  giving  him  and  Mrs.  Longbow 
a  better  chance  ;  but  the  Squire's  commands  were  entirely 
disregarded  ;  he  had  sunk  down  to  the  level  of  a  mere 
citizen  ;  he  was  stripped  of  all  his  power  ;  it  was  the 
great  caravan  day,  and  who  cared  for  a  justice  of  the 
peace  on  such  an  occasion  ? 

Aunt  Sonora  having  repaired  the  disasters  of  the  fore- 
noon, had  determined  to  see  the  fun  out.  She  had  put 


328  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

on  her  "  Vother  frock/'  and  looked  as  well  as  she  did 
before  she  had  been  peeled  through  the  morning' mulli 
tude.  The  doors  were  opened  at  last,  and  the  "  rush  " 
entered,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  canvas  was  alive  with 
human  beings.  The  grand  caravan  now  on  exhibition 
was  originally  the  fag-end  of  a  large  concern,  which  had 
been  bought  up  by  sharpers  to  swindle  the  people.  I  say, 
originally,  because  this  fag-end  had  been  divided  up  into 
three  smaller  fag-ends  which  were  out  in  different  parts 
of  the  new  country  scouring  around  for  money.  The 
Puddleford  fag-end  had  a  runt  of  a  lion,  who  was  very 
evidently  on  his  last  legs  ;  for  he  had  been  travelled 
until  his  hair  was  worn  entirely  off,  and  his  spirits  ex- 
hausted. It  was  very  clear  that  he  was  showing  himself 
for  about  the  last  time.  The  elephant  was  diseased,  and 
the  tiger  was  about  four  times  the  size  of  a  cat.  There 
were  three  dirty-looking  monkeys  in  a  cage  eating  crack- 
ers and  hickory  nuts,  and  chatting  and  throwing  shucks 
through  the  bars  at  the  gaping  crowd  —  an  ichneumon 
—  a  black  bear,  the  only  hearty  fellow  in  the  concern  — 
and  a  mussy-looking  ostrich,  who  had  lost  his  tail-feath- 
ers in  his  peregrinations  through  the  globe.  This  was 
the  caravan. 

Aunt  Sonora  entered,  trembling.  —  "  Dear  me  !  dear 
me  !  dear  me  ! 7>  she  uttered  to  herself  as  she  went  in  ; 
"  and  so  this  is  really  the  great  caravan  ;  if  the  animals 
should  get  loose  —  and  there  —  0,  there  —  is  that  the 
lion  1  "  she  exclaimed  involuntarily  to  those  around  her, 
starting  back,  as  she  saw  the  bars  of  a  cage  in  the  dis- 
tance,—  "  are  them  bars  iron?"  she  exclaimed,  looking 
frightened. 

"  Walk  up !  walk  up  !  "  exclaimed  the  keeper,  as  he 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  329 

saw  several  persons  standing  back  ;  "the  lion  is  one  of 
the  most  docile  animals  we  have,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ; 
he  never  bites,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  got  him  in  a  strong 
cage  ;  walk  up,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  see  the  fo'-on, 
the  monarch  of  the  forest,  as  he  is  called." 

"  How  his  eyeballs  glare  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora, 
disregarding  the  peaceful  proclamation  of  the  keeper,  as 
the  great  African  lion  looked  up  lazily,  and  brushed  a  fly 
from  his  nose  with  his  fore-paw. 

"  This  African  lion,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  continued 
the  keeper,  "  is  fourteen  years  old  ;  was  caught  in  the 
great  jungles  of  Ethiopia,  by  throwing  a  large  rope  around 
his  neck  when  he  was  a-sleeping,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ; 
he  floundered  a  good  deal,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  but  he 
was  caught  and  brought  away  to  the  shores  of  Ameri-ca, 
where  he  has  been  ever  since.  Nobody  need  be  afear'd, 
for  he  never  breaks  out  of  his  cage,  and  always  minds 
his  keeper.  Walk  up  cZo-ser  and  look  at  the  animal,  ladies 
and  gentlemen."  Here  the  keeper  struck  the  iron  bars 
of  the  cage  a  heavy  blow  with  a  stick  which  he  carried, 
but  the  great  African  lion  took  no  notice  of  it. 

"  Don't  be  skeer'd,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Swipes,  who  had 
listened  attentively  to  the  assurances  of  the  keeper,  ad- 
dressing herself  to  Miss  Lavinia  Longbow,  whom  she 
held  between  herself  and  the  great  African  lion,  as  a  pre- 
caution ;  "  don't  be  skeer'd,  he's  one  of  the  most  docil- 
est  animals  in  the  whole  caravan,  the  keeper  says ;  push 
along.  Don't  be  skeer'd ;  go  right  up  to  where  he  is  a- 
lying." 

"  This,"  exclaimed  Squire  Longbow,  in  a  loud  tone  of 
voice,  to  a  host  of  Puddlefordians  who  had  gathered  around 
him  for  protection  ;  "this  is  the  great  lion  I  tell'd  you 


330  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

about  ]  he  ain't  so  large  as  the  one  I  onct  saw  down  onter 
the  Susquehannas.  Can  he  roar  any,  Mr.  Keeper  ?  " 
continued  the  Squire,  turning  solemnly,  and  addressing 
himself  to  that  august  personage  with  his  usual  dignity. 

"He's  a  perfect  roarer,  ladies  and  gentlemen  1  "  an- 
swered the  keeper  ;  "  but  the  lion  don't  roar  at  this  time 
of  the  year — you  don't  understand  the  nater  of  the 
animal  —  he  loses  his  voice  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
season.  You  ought  to  have  heard  him  last  spring,  when 
he  was  in  the  roaring  mood,  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  Bless  us  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  Frightened  the  children  half  to  death/'  said  the 
keeper. 

"  The  great  —  African  lion,"  muttered  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  But  he  won't  roar  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen  —  walk 
up,  walk  up  !  " 

"  Com'd  from  the  jungles,  I  b'pose,"  inquired  the 
Squire,  with  much  gravity. 

"  Caught  right  in  a  jungle,"  said  the  keeper. 

"  Jest  as  I  told  you  I  ''  said  the  Squire,  turning  around 
to  his  friends. 

"  Has  he  got  claws  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Sonora. 

"  Claws!  "  exclaimed  the  keeper,  looking  astonished; 
"the  great  —  African  lion  —  got  claws?  Bless  you! 
why  he's  all  claws  arid  teeth ;  let  me  show  them  to  you  ;" 
and  the  keeper  ran  his  arm  into  the  cage,  in  the  act  of 
pulling  out  one  of  the  paws  of  the  ferocious  beast ;  when 
all  Puddleford  started  with  a  rush  for  the  door,  mingled 
with  screams  that  were  most  heart-rending. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  keeper,  who  had  become 
affected  by  the  terror  around  him ;  "  we  won't  show  the 
lion's  claws  now." 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  331 

Order  being  restored,  Mrs.  Bird  wanted  to  know  why 
the  lion  "  hadn't  got  any  harf  '} 

"  Any  what?  "  inquired  the  keeper,  peering  through 
the  crowd  to  find  where  the  voice  came  from,  and  what 
it  said. 

"  Any  har,  Mr.  Keeper." 

"Ah!  0,  yes  —  any  hair  —  I  see  —  it  is  a  lady  who 
mikes  the  inquiry.  Why  the  animal  hasn't  got  any  hair  ? 
Yes,  yes,  very  proper  inquiry.  We  like  to  answer  such 
questions,  or  any  questions.  These  animals  are  great 
curiosities  ;  and  we  travel  for  the  instruction  of  the  peo- 
ple. Why  the  animal  hasn't  got  any  hair  ?  Put  all  the 
questions  you  can  think  of,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  The 
animal  hasn't  got  any  hair  just  now.  Well,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  he  has  just  shed  his  coat  —  the  lion  is  the 
monarch  of  the  forest  —  he  sheds  his  coat  in  the  fall  of 
the  year,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  he's  from  Africa,  where 
the  animals  shed  their  coats  at  a  different  season  from  the 
animals  in  this  country  ;  and  the  lion  does  just  as  he 
would  do  if  he  were  in  Africa  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
A  very  proper  question  that,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  the 
lion  is  a  wonderful  beast  —  the  most  wonderful  beast, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  have.  Any  more  questions  ? 
He  has  shed  his  coat,  you  see  ;  looks  bad  just  now.  A 
sight  at  the  lion  alone  is  worth  the  whole  admission 
money.  Any  more  questions  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bird  wanted  to  know  of  the  keeper  if  he  couldn't 
make  him  "  snap  and  snarl  a  little.7' 

As  the  lion  could  scarcely  stand  upon  his  legs,  the  re- 
quest of  Mrs.  Bird  rather  took  the  keeper  aback  for  a 
moment.  But  he  recovered  himself  and  proceeded.  He 
said  he  could  do  it  —  did  do  it  sometimes  —  but  he  didn't 


332  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

like  to  do  it.  "  You  see,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  he 
is  very  docile  now  ;  resting  very  quiet ;  nothing  disturbs 
him  ;  but  if  he  should  get  once  roused  up,  there  is  no 
knowing  what  he  would  do  ;  I  have  stirred  him  up  upon 
particular  request,  but  I  never  do  it  of  my  own  accord, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  We  don't  propose  to  do  any  such 
thiag  on  our  bills  ;  we  don't  like  to  do  such  a  thing  ; 
but  we  always  mean  to  satisfy  the  public,  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen. "  Here  the  keeper  started  for  a  long  pole  with 
a  sharp  spike  in  the  end  of  it,  and  returning  with  it  in 
his  hand,  announced,  "  I  will  now  make  the  great  African 
lion  foam  and  rage,  and  gnash  his  teeth." 

A  scream  of  terror  went  up  from  the  whole  multitude, 
filled  with  broken  ejaculations.  "  Murder  ! JJ  "  Don't !  " 
"  Let  me  out  !  "  "  Stop  him  !  "  and  everybody  rushed  in 
the  wildest  confusion  a  second  time  for  the  door. 

The  keeper  laid  down  his  pole,  and  calmed  the  crowd. 

The  exercises  connected  with  the  lion  now  closed. 
Turtle  took  advantage  of  the  interregnum  to  make  an 
inquiry  of  his  own.  He  had  in  his  possession  the  flaming 
poster  that  had  so  long  hung  at  the  Eagle,  and  amused 
and  astonished  the  Puddlefordians,  and  slowly  unfolding 
it,  he  caught  the  eye  of  the  keeper,  as  he  held  it  out  at 
full  length,  and  wished  to  know  where  "  all  the  monkeys 
were  that  were  put  on  to  that  'ere  bill  ?  " 

The  keeper  pointed  to  the  monkeys'  cage,  where  the 
three  were,  still  chewing  nuts  and  crackers,  and  chatter- 
ing and  bobbing  from  one  side  to  the  other. 

"  Je-hos-a-phat !  "  exclaimed  Turtle,  "  them  ar'  ain't 
these  'ere  monkeys  —  there  ain't  but  three  on  'em,  nuth- 
er,  and  they  ain't  climbing  trees,  as  these  are  —  Je-hos-a- 
phat  !  —  are  them  your  monkeys,  Mr.  Keeper  ?  " 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  333 

The  keeper  said  "he  would  explain.  They  were  the 
same  monkeys  that  the  gentleman  found  on  the  bill  ;  the 
same  monkeys  in  different  attitudes.  That  monkey,  for 
instance,  ladies  and  gentlemen/'  continued  the  keeper, 
pointing  his  stick  at  a  gray-bearded  one  in  the  cage,  who 
was  just  then  intently  at  work  pulling  a  sliver  out  of  his 
foot,  "  that  monkey  is  represented  four  or  five  times  on 
the  bill  in  different  forms,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  jumping 
here,  and  climbing  there,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  and  in 
other  places  performing  those  wonderful  and  curious  feats 
that  the  monkey  only  can  perform.  Will  the  gentleman 
show  the  bill  for  the  benefit  of  all  ?  (Ike  held  up  the 
bill  over  his  head.)  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  look  at 
the  bill,  and  then  look  at  the  monkey.  These  bills  are 
printed  for  the  instruction  of  the  people  ;  it  gives  them  a 
knowledge  of  natural  history.  That  monkey  can  do  any- 
thing that  we  have  represented  on  our  bill ;  or,  rather, 
monkeys  in  their  native  woods  do  all  these  things  ;  but 
the  woods  we  cannot  carry  around  with  us,  ladies  and 
gentlemen  ;  and  so  we  give  it  to  you  on  our  bills.  (Hold 
the  bill  a  little  higher,  if  you  please,  sir.)  There  you 
see  the  monkey  as  he  is  —  next  thing  to  a  man,  ladies 
and  gentlemen.  Study  the  monkey  ;  he's  an  as-fon-ishing 
animal ;  very  different  from  the  lion  there  ;  wherever  we 
go,  the  mon-keys  are  admired.  Any  more  questions, 
ladies  and  gentlemen  ?  " 

Turtle  said  "he  b'lieved  he  shouldn't  ask  any  more 
questions." 

Bigelow  Van  Slyck  had  not  yet  seen  "  that  wonderful 
animal  mentioned  in  Holy  Writ,  and  now  known  as  the 
Ichneumon. "  He  had  walked  the  whole  caravan  over 
and  over  a  dozen  times,  but  the  Ichneumon  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 


334  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

He  inquired,  at  last,  of  the  keeper,  "  where  he  kept 
his  Ichneumon.7' 

•  "  Certainly/'  answered  the  keeper  in  the  most  amiable 
manner  possible,  leading  the  way  to  a  little  cage  on  the 
ground,  where  he  had  an  animal  housed  about  the  size  of 
a  small  dog. 

"  There/'  exclaimed  the  keeper,  "is  the  sacred  quad- 
ruped now  known  as  the  Ichneumon/' 

Bigelow  ran  his  hands  into  his  breeches-pockets  and 
looked  down  very  reverently  upon  the  little  fellow. 

"  Spoken  of  in  Holy  Writ  ?  "  repeated  Bigelow. 

"  Often/'  said  the  keeper. 

"  Old  Testament,  probably/'  said  Bigelow. 

"  Most  probably/'  replied  the  keeper. 

Bigelow  took  another  long  look. 

"And  he's  alive,  too/'  said  Bigelow,  drawing  a  long 
breath. 

"  But  it  costs  a  great  deal  of  money/'  answered  the 
keeper,  "  to  preserve  his  life  —  most  expensive  animal  we 
have  —  bathe  him  in  salt  water  three  times  a  day." 

"  Mi-rac-ulous  !  "  said  Bigelow. 

"Treat  him  very  tenderly,"  continued  the  keeper; 
"  liable  to  lose  him  any  moment;  cost  a  great  sum  ;  but 
we  don't  mind  that  —  it  is  our  business  —  we  will  satisfy 
the  public." 

Bigelow  introduced  Mrs.  Bird,  Mrs.  Swipes,  and  Mrs. 
Longbow  to  the  Ichneumon,  who  did  not  happen  to  be 
present  and  hear  the  keeper's  remarks,  and  repeated  in 
low  breath  the  information  which  he  had  just  derived, 
with  suitable  and  appropriate  remarks  of  his  own.  For 
his  part,  he  said,  he  was  paid.  He  had  seen  the  sacred 
animal  called  the  Ichneumon  ;  and  he  managed  to  weave 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  335 

him  into  a  sermon  which  he  preached  some  weeks  after- 
wards, in  which  he  identified  him  as  clearly  as  he  did 
when  inspecting  the  poster  at  the  Eagle. 

Jim  Buzzard  was  present  during  all  the  exercises.  He 
crawled  in  under  the  canvas  at  rather  a  late  hour,  but 
appeared  in  time  to  see  all  that  was  to  be  seen.  He  made 
very  few  comments  upon  the  animals.  He  took  a  very 
long  look  at  the  elephant,  who  seemed  to  just  strike  his 
fancy.  Jim  was  a  picture,  and  so  was  the  elephant.  As 
he  stood  in  rags  gaping  at  the  monster,  it  seemed  as  if 
he  was  magnetized  to  the  ground.  He  examined  him  up 
and  down,  looked  under  him,  and  over  him,  and  at  last, 
after  having  digested  all  there  was  about  him,  he  scratched 
his  head  and  said,  "  0,  Gosh  I  " 

But  all  tilings  must  have  an  end,  and  the  grand  cara- 
van, in  time,  came  to  its  end.  The  last  performance, 
which  was  intended  as  the  climax  to  the  whole  day's 
proceedings,  and  which  had  been  looked  forward  to  by 
the  Puddlefordians  with  the  most  enthusiastic  feeling, 
was  the  "ostrich  and  monkey  ride."  The  poster  had 
painted  this  affair  in  shining  colors,  and  it  was  finally  an- 
nounced by  the  keeper,  amid  a  tempest  of  applause.  It 
is  not  in  my  power  to  describe  this  ride.  The  monkey 
rode  the  ostrich,  as  promised,  carrying  a  whip  in  his 
hand  —  and  then  the  monkey  took  another  round  on  the 
ostrich,  carrying  something  else  —  and  then  again  and 
again,  each  time  under  renewed  and  stronger  vocifera- 
tions from  the  multitude,  until  I  really  began  to  think 
that  the  monkey  and  ostrich  were  certain  to  transport  the 
crowd  into  hysterics,  and  cover  themselves  with  immor- 
tal glory. 

When  the  afternoon  shadows  began  to  lengthen  over 


336  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

the  green,  the  tent,  which  had  so  recently  gone  up  by 
magic,  as  suddenly  dissolved,  and  the  people  dissolved 
too.  The  show  was  over,  and  there  were  scores  of  peo- 
ple who  were  twenty  or  thirty  miles  from  home,  jaded 
and  nearly  out  of  money.  Puddleford  was  in  an  uproar 
in  the  general  preparation  for  a  departure.  The  showmen 
were  packing  their  monkeys,  ostrich,  and  ichneumon, 
temporarily  hobbling  their  elephant,  arid  counting  up  the 
proceeds  of  the  day,  and  making  ready  for  a  fresh  swin- 
dle upon  some  adjacent  town.  The  women  were  dealing 
out  gingerbread  to  squalling  children  to  fortify  their 
stomachs  against  the  journey  of  the  night.  The  men 
were  settling  up  their  bills  at  the  Eagle;  and  all  was 
bustle  and  commotion. 

Aunt  Sonora  hurried  home  and  "  took  a  nap  ; "  she  had 
passed  such  a  day  ;  "was,"  as  she  said,  "nearly  killed 
in  the  morning,  and  skeer'd  to  death  in  the  arternoon, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  she  should  fly  off  the  handle  ;  her 
head  danc'd  round  like  a  top  ;  see  if  they  could  catch 
her  at  any  more  of  their  powwows  ;  their  lions  and  their 
monkeys  might  go  to  grass,  for  all  her ;  she'd  not  look 
at  'em  agin  ;  that's  what  she  wouldn't  —  there  warn't 
nothin'  so  grand  'bout  'em,  arter  all,  as  folks  telPd  on  — 
she  wouldn't''  use  up  herself  agin  for  any  such  strolling 
critters  —  not  she." 

The  procession  formed  in  a  line,  just  at  twilight,  to 
take  its  farewell.  A  knot  of  urchins,  and  twenty  or  more 
Puddlefordians,  were  all  that  were  left  of  the  pride  and 
pomp  of  the  morning  to  see  them  safely  on  their  way. 
The  band  struck  up  a  lively  air,  the  wagons  moved  for- 
ward, and  soon  had  wound  away  out  of  sight;  and  all 
settled  down  again  into  the  most  profound  tranquillity. 


HUMORS  OF  THE    WEST.  33? 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Tinkhams  arrive.  —  Great  Stir.  —  Miss  Lavinia  Longbow's  Head 
is  turned.  —  Everybody  in  Love  with  the  Tinkhams.  —  Wind 
changes.  —  The  Tinkhams  .  fall.  —  The  whole  Pack  out  on 
them.  —  They  abandon  the  Settlement. 

IT  is  remarkable  how  the  people  of  a  new  country  run 
in  fixed  channels  of  thought  and  action.  That  this  is 
true  of  an  old  one  where  ages  have  hardened  down  arid 
vitrified  a  long  train  of  habits,  is  not  so  wonderful.  Pud- 
dleford  was  in  the  gristle,  it  was  true,  and  had  not  as  yet 
made  any  permanent  development.  But  even  in  its 
gristle,  it  had  its  laws  —  temporary,  of  course,  but  laws, 
nevertheless,  which  were  as  unbending  as  iron,  while 
they  lasted. 

No  person  was  permitted  to  outstrip  his  neighbor  in 
any  of  the  luxuries  or  refinements  of  social  life.  Any 
attempt  at  such  a  piece  of  ambition  was  regarded  as  a 
kind  of  premeditated  insult  upon  the  whole  town.  It 
was  never  for  a  moment  supposed  that  a  Puddlefordian 
could  act  without  some  hidden  motive,  maliciously  di- 
rected against  those  who  were  not  in  any  way  connected 
with  his  personal  affairs.  The  pride  of  a  new  country  is 
most  marvellous.  The  less  wealth,  or  the  less  education, 
or  the  less  of  the  luxuries  of  life,  which  such  a  people 
may  possess,  the  more  tender  they  are  upon  those  very 
deprivations.  In  one  sense,  again,  not  a  particle  of 
22 


338  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,   OR 

pride  could  be  found  lingering  in  all  Puddleford.  This 
pride  was  the  source  of  the  most  unrelenting  jealousy. 

Mrs.  Longbow  never  bought  a  new  calico  without  be- 
ing agitated.  She  knew  that  not  only  the  calico,  but 
herself,  too,  in  connection  with  such  a  bold  enterprise, 
must  necessarily  pass  in  review  before  all  the  women  of 
the  place.  And  she  also  knew  that  not  unfrequently  it 
happened  that  very  improper  motives  were  attributed. 
The  calico  might  have  been  purchased  to  cast  a  slur  upon 
some  one  else  —  a  way  taken  by  her  to  "  let  people 
know  what  some  folks  could  do,  and  what  other  people 
could  not  do,"  —  a  kind  of  open  triumph,  maliciously  in- 
tended to  humble  the  pride,  and  sneer  at  the  poverty  of 
another,  who  dare  not  venture  upon  such  an  outlay  of 
money  —  and  Mrs.  Longbow  knew  and  felt  that  it  was 
as  much  as  her  reputation  was  worth  to  appear  for  the 
first  time  in  public  in  such  a  garment  —  for  Mrs.  Swipes 
or  Mrs.  Bird  would-be  sure  to  declare  that  "she  did  it 
on  purpos'  jist  to  insult  her." 

Immigrants,  who  settled  in  Puddleford,  felt  the  force 
of  this  social  law  very  forcibly.  Mr.  Tinkham  and  fam- 
ily came  in  and  took  up  their  residence.  Mr.  Tinkham 
was  a  small  merchant,  and  hailed  from  a  small  eastern 
village,  and  brought  in  his  train  a  wife,  one  son,  and  two 
daughters  —  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham,  Miss  Jenet  Tinkham, 
and  Miss  Mary  Tinkham  —  old  enough  all  for  society. 
They  were  a  very  plain  family,  had  been  educated  in  a 
very  plain  way,  and  were  very  unpretending  in  their  de- 
portment. "Old  Mr.  Tinkham,"  as  he  was  called,  was 
on  the  downhill  side  of  life,  and  was  fast  running  into 
the  shadows  of  the  valley  ;  and  "  Old  Mrs.  Tinkham  " 
was  not  very  far  behind  him.  They  had  immigrated  for 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  339 

the  benefit  of  their  children  —  made  themselves  misera- 
ble from  a  philanthropic  desire  to  make  somebody  else 
happy  —  had  buried  all  the  associations,  comforts,  and 
joys  of  their  lives,  to  linger  out  an  unnatural  existence 
in  the  West. 

When  Mr.  Tinkham  and  his  family  came  on,  Puddle- 
ford  was  overflowing  with  enthusiasm.  Indeed,  their  an- 
ticipated arrival  was  heralded  by  all  hands  long  before 
they  made  their  appearance,  and  their  "  means,"  personal 
history,  politics,  and  religion  were  well  known  weeks  in 
advance.  The  accession  of  a  new  family  was  a  great 
event  in  Puddleford  —  and  well  it  might  be  —  for  it  was 
a  rare  event  to  find  any  one  bold  enough  to  settle  down  in 
the  village  —  and  it  usually  turned  out  to  be  as  great  an 
event  to  the  individual  who  settled,  as  those  whom  he 
settled  among. 

There  was  a  general  uprising  to  receive  Mr.  Tinkham 

—  it  did   not  seem  possible  to   do  enough  for  Mr.  Tink- 
ham—  he  was  from  the  very  first  completely  run  down, 
crushed,  and  smothered  with   attention  —  all  the  women 
offered  their  services  in  any  and  every  way  to  Mr.  Tink- 
ham, and  to   Mrs.  Tinkham,   and   Mr.  Howard  Tinkham, 
and  Miss  Jenet  Tinkham,  and  Miss  Mary  Tinkham  —  one 
ran  this  way  to  do  this,  and  another  that  way  to  do  that 

—  sometimes  two   or  three  female  Puddlefordians  would 
insist  upon   performing  the  same  act  for  Mrs.  Tinkham, 
which   not  unfrequently  resulted  in   hard  words  and  red 
faces  among  themselves,  for  their  kindness  was  so  impul- 
sive and  excessive,  that  it  was  not  possible  for  them  to 
restrain  it,  as  long  as  the  Tinkham  fever  lasted. 

The  Tinkhams  thought  that  they  had  been  very  much 
underrated,  or  very  much  overrated.  They  were  posi- 


340  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

lively  delighted,  with  the  spontaneous  attention  of  the 
Puddlefordians  —  and  jet,  as  has  been  stated,  the  Tirik- 
hams  were  a  plain  people,  not  subject  to  any  fashionable 
flights,  nor  haughty  airs,  nor  had  they  ever  demanded  or 
received  much  notice  before,  and  they  could  only  account 
for  the  novel  exhibitions  of  hospitality  of  their  new  c c- 
quaintances  by  supposing  it  was  "their  way/7  and  that 
they  were  no  exception  to  a  general  rule. 

Miss  Lavinia  Longbow,  who  was  decidedly  one  of  the 
fashionable  "  upper  crust  "  of  society  —  for  every  society 
has  its  "upper  crust  "  —  and  who  was  the  daughter  of 
Squire  Longbow,  which  of  itself  was  all-sufficient  to  fix 
her  social  position  —  Miss  Lavinia  Longbow  almost  went 
into  ecstasies  over  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham  the  first  time 
she  saw  him. 

She  declared  that  "  he  was  the  splendidest  man  she 
ever  see'd  —  that  she  thought  that  Jim  Barton  was  some- 
. thing  of  a  feller  once  —  but,  0,  pshaw  I  he  warn't 
nothin'.  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham  had  such  a  poetical  eye, 
and  such  tap'rin'  hands,  and  then  he  was  so  much  slim- 
mer-er  than  Jim  Barton,  and  he  walked  off  so  peert  like 
. —  and  then  he  talked  so  £m-tiful  —  all  about  the  Yenuses, 
and  the  God-es-es,  and  she  did  not  know  how  many  more 
things,  that  she  never  heer'd  of  afore  in  all  her  born 
days.  Jim  Barton  didn't  know  nothhV  'bout  anything  — 
he  couldn't  say  boo  afore  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham — he  was 
sich  a  man,  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham  was  —  he  know'd 
everything  —  how  many  pretty  stories  he  had  told  her  — 
0,  pshaw  !  talk  about  Jim  Barton." 

Miss  Lavinia  ran  on  in  the  most  extravagant  terms,  at 
all  times  and  places,  about  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham,  and 
she  positively  refused  to  speak  to,  or  notice  Jim  Barton, 
for  six  months  after  Tinkham  came  in. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  341 

Mrs.  Swipes,  Bird,  Longbow,  Aunt  Sonora,  and  all 
were  bewitched  with  Mrs.  Tinkham.  Mrs.  Swipes  pre- 
sented Mrs.  Tinkham  with  a  dried-apple  pie  within  an 
hour  after  her  arrival,  at  the  same  time  informing  her 
that  "  it  would  come  right  handy  while  they  were  put- 
ting things  to  rights  —  and  that  if  there  was  anything 
else  —  any  —  thing  —  no  matter  what  —  that  she  had  in 
her  house,  to  come  over  and  take  it  right  away,  and  ask  no 
questions.  She  wanted  her  to  be  at  home  in  her  house, 
jist  as  long  as  they  liv'd  in  Puddleford." 

Mrs.  Tinkham  thought  Mrs.  Swipes  was  a  very  ac- 
commodating woman. 

Mrs.  Longbow  sent  a  ham  —  Mrs.  Bird  a  loaf  of  "  In- 
jun/' as  she  called  it  —  and  as  Mrs.  Swipes  knew  what 
Mrs.  Longbow  had  sent,  and  as  Mrs.  Longbow  ascer- 
tained what  Mrs.  Swipes  had  sent,  and  as  Mrs.  Bird  dis- 
covered by  inquiry  "round  about/'  what  they  both  sent, 
and  as  the  rest  of  the  Puddleford  ladies  made  it  their 
business  to  know  what  they  all  had  sent,  and  as  they 
were  determined  not  to  be  outdone  by  the  upper  crust, 
who  they  declared  were  no  better  than  they  were,  and 
couldn't  do  any  more  than  they  could  do,  the  conse- 
quence was  that  the  Tinkhams  began  to  think  that  they 
had  reached  the  promised  land,  and  that  the  windows  of 
Heaven  were  opened,  and  showering  down  blessings 
broadcast  upon  them. 

The  Tinkhams  were  in  raptures  with  Puddleford.  Mrs. 
Swipes  called  two  or  three  times  a  day  to  know  how 
they  got  along  —  to  know  if  Mary  Jane  Arabella  could 
not  come  in  and  "  chore  around  a  little  while  they  were 
scttliii'  "  —  that  she  know'd  what  it  was  "  to  get  fix'd  " 
—  to  know  if  ''there  warn't  swmthin'  she  could  do." 


342  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

Mrs.  Longbow  was  very  anxious  to  find  out  "  v  hen 
Mrs.  Tinkham  could  come  over  and  spend  a  sociable  after- 
noon —  it  seemed  as  if  she  couldn't  wait/7 

Mrs.  Bird  declared  that  "she  would  have  the  first 
visit  —  that  she'd  say  flat-footed. " 

The  Tinkharns  were  certainly  very  much  in  love  with 
Puddleford.  They  had  positively  never  seen  anything 
like  it.  The  impression  which  they  had  made  exceeded 
all  their  expectations.  They  did  not  see  how  they  could 
ever  repay  the  manifestations  of  its  people. 

But  this  paroxysm  of  attention  in  time  passed  away. 
The  Tinkhams  in  time  —  and  in  a  very  short  time,  too  — 
fell  from  their  high  position.  Mrs.  Tinkham  did  call  first 
upon  Mrs.  Longbow,  and  she  and  all  the  other  Tinkhams 
were  ruined  from  that  day. 

Mrs.  Bird  then  declared  "  she  just  began  to  see  what 
they  were  "  —  she  blazed  out  with  all  her  fires,  and 
showered  down  her  red-hot  lava  upon  the  Tinkhams,  both 
great  and  small.  She  "had  a  lurkin'  kinder  suspicion  all 
the  time  that  they  warn't  much  "  —  she  said  "  she  meant 
to  treat  'em  decently,  and  she  had  treated  'em  decently 

—  she  and  Mary   Jane  didn't  do  nothin'  but  run  for  'em 
all  the  time,  when  they  fust  cum  — and  now  this  was  her 
thanks  for't  —  this  was  what  she  got — this  was  her  pay 

—  she'd   tell   the  whole   pile  on  'em  what   she   thought, 
some  day  —  she'd  give  'em  a  piece  of  her  mind  —  she'd 
show  'em  what  Sail  Bird  could  do  —  they'd  find  her  out 

—  they  couldn't  tromp  outer  her  — jest  —  to  —  think  — 
after  all  said  and  done  —  that  the  huzzy  went  straight 
over  and  call'd  fust  on  Mrs.  Longbow  —  on   Mrs.  Long- 
bow —  yes,    old    Squire    Longbow's    second    wife  —  old 
Aunt  Graves,  and  nobody  else — who   I've  know'd  fust 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  343 

and  last  these  twenty  years  —  and  no  good  of  her  nuther 
—  to  think  of  it !  to  think  I  —  only  to  think  !  " 

This  little  explosion  went  off  in  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Swipes,  who  had  been  as  deeply  injured  by  this  "  call  " 
as  Mrs.  Bird,  and  Mrs.  Bird  knew  it. 

Mrs.  Swipes  declared  "  that  while  she  was  the  last 
woman  on  the  face  of  the  airth  to  injure  anybody,  or 
talk  'bout  anybody,  that  was  well  known,  she  couldn't 
help  lettin'  out  on  the  Tinkhams  —  she  couldn't !  she'd 
tried  it,  but  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  do  it  —  and  she  would 
do  it,  and  she'd  do  it  now,  —  she  thought  she  saw  sum- 
thin'  —  swmthin'  a-nuther  —  'bout  that  Mrs.  Tinkham, 
the  fust  day  that  they  came  inter  the  settlement,  that 
warn't  right  —  she  didn't  like  her  eye  —  there  was  a  cer- 
tain sort-of-er-look  there  —  and  she  might  as  well  say  it 
right  out,  it  looked  wicked  to  her  —  wicked  as  Cain  — 
she  told  Mr.  Swipes  then  that  she  believed  that  she  was  a 
dang-rous  woman  —  but  she  was  detarmined  to  try  her, 
for  she  was  a  person  who  allers  tried  everybody  —  she 
gin  everybody  a  chance  —  she  didn't  cry  down  nobody, 
she  didn't  —  she  warn't  a-goin'  to  —  'twas  agin  her  prin- 
ciples-to  do  so  —  but  when  she  did  find  people  out  —  and 
she  allers  did  —  allers  —  sooner  or  Za-ter —  sum  time  or 
a-nuther  —  she  was  sure  to  find  'em  out,  then  they'd  got 
ter  take  a  piece  of  her  mind  —  and  she  had  found  the 
Tinkhams  out,  and  she  thought  the  Tinkhams  warn't  any 
great  shakes  —  that's  what  she  thought." 

"  Jest  my  mind  exactly  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bird,  who 
had  listened  with  great  attention,  with  her  eyes  staring, 
and  her  mouth  open,  so  she  could  not  lose  a  word. 

"  Nor  warn't  any  great  shakes  where  they  com'd 
from/'  added  Mrs.  Swipes  ;  "  that  I've  lamed  for  true, 
and  I  know  it." 


344  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

"  Nor  never  will  be  any  great  shakes/'  continued  Mrs. 
Bird,  "  anywhere  —  never  !  never  !  " 

"  From  the  old  man  down/'  said  Mrs.  Swipes. 

"  Yes  !  from  the  old  man  down/'  repeated  Mrs.  Bird. 

Aunt  Sonora,  who  was  very  "  set  in  her  way/'  and  ,', 
great  stickler  for  the  old  order  of  things,  was,  neverthe- 
less, not  naturally  malicious.  She  thought  the  Tink- 
hams,  however,  "  were  getting  mighty  stuck  up,"  and 
that  the  "  gals  put  on  the  drefellest  sight  of  airs  " — 
"  she  didn't  think  Puddleford  could  hold  'em  long  —  peo- 
ple who  ate  sales-molasses  for  common,  and  bought  fresh 
every  day,  must  have  a  long  purse  or  they'd  bust  "  — 
she  said  "  she  was  very  sure  that  Mr.  Howard  Tinkham 
wore  broadcloth  ;  and  as  for  the  women-folks,  why,  they 
were  flarin'  out  all  the  while  in  their  silks  —  and  laws-a- 
me,"  said  the  old  lady,  "they  hain't  got  such  a  killin' 
sight  to  be  proud  of  nuther  —  if  they  had,  she  didn't 
know  where  they  kept  it,  for  her  part." 

The  Tinkhams  found  themselves  in  hot  water  on  every 
side  — and  simply  for  the  reason  that  Mrs.  Tinkham  had 
made  her  first  call  on  Mrs.  Longbow.  But  Mrs. 'Tink- 
ham could  not  have  escaped  her  fate  —  that  was  not  pos- 
sible ;  if  she  had  selected  any  other  of  her  devoted 
friends,  the  result  would  have  been  precisely  the  same. 

In  four  weeks  from  the  time  the  Tinkhams  had  been 
received  with  such  demonstrations  of  affection,  it  was 
discovered,  — 

That  Mrs.  Bird  did  not  speak  to  Mrs.  Tinkham  ; 

That  Mrs.  Swipes  did  not  speak  to  Mrs.  Tinkham  ; 

That  Mrs.  Beagle  did  not  speak  to  Mrs.  Tinkham  ; 

That  a  very  great  many  other  persons  who  did  not 
speak  to  Mrs.  Bird,  Swipes,  or  Beagle,  did  not  speak  to 
Mrs.  Tinkhara. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  345 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tinkham  found  that  they  had  come  in 
conflict  with  public  opinion  in  Puddleford  —  they  were 
completely  driven  out  from  society. 

The  social  war  soon  extended  itself  further.  The  Bird 
clique  would  not  trade  at  Mr.  Tinkham's  store.  Mrs. 
Bird  declared  "  that  she  wouldn't  have  nothing  at  all  to 
do  with  'em  no  way  —  not  the  fust  thing —  she  wouldn't 
darken  any  of  their  doors,  and  they  shouldn't  darken 
hers  —  not  a  Tinkham  should  enter  her  front  gate  —  shed 
larn  'em,  that's  what  she  would."  Mrs.  Swipes  and  Mrs. 
Beagle  agreed  to  the  same  thing  —  the  Tinkhams 
shouldn't  darken  their  doors,  nuther.  Mrs.  Bird  said 
she  wouldn't  go  where  the  Tinkhams  went.  Mrs.  Swipes 
and  Mrs.  Beagle  thereupon  agreed  that  they  wouldn't  go 
where  the  Tinkhams  went  —  and  the  lesser  lights  that 
revolved  around  Mrs.  Bird,  Swipes,  arid  Beagle,  agreed 
that  they  wouldn't  "  nuther." 

The  Tinkhams  were  obliged  to  draw  their  business  to 
a  close,  and  leave  the  land  of  their  adoption.  They  did 
not  understand  the  social  law  of  the  country.  They 
were  seen,  early  one  morning,  wending  their  way  out  of 
the  village,  solitary,  yet  not  sad,  without  pomp  or  pa- 
rade, their  faces  to  the  rising  sun,  retracing  their  steps 
back  to  the  land  which  they  had  left,  wiser,  if  not  better, 
we  trust,  with  a  fixed  determination  to  "  let  well  enough 
alone  "  during  the  remainder  of  their  lives,  and  never 
again  give  "  a  bird  in  the  hand  for  (none)  in  the  bush." 

Puddleford  experienced  no  more  spasms  from  a  disturb- 
ance of  its  social  equilibrium  for  a  long  time  ;  not  until 
the  Styles  family  came  in  many  years  afterwards,  and 
overturned  the  whole  order  of  things,  and  established 
upon  the  ruins  an  entirely  new  government. 


346  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

And  still  New  England.  —  Sui  Generis.  —  Her  Ruggedness  tl  e  Soil 
of  Liberty. — The  Contrast. — The   New  England  Conservative. 

—  The  New  England  Man  of  Business.  —  The  West  has  no  Past. 

—  Fast,  and  Hospitable.  —  Saxon  Blood  and  Saxon  Spirit. 

SUCH  is  a  picture  of  some  of  the  old-school  New  Eng- 
land men,  as  they  flourished  years  ago.  Such  are 
some  of  the  portraits  and  images  that  rise  up,  and  stand 
out  vividly  before  me. 

New  England  is  unlike  anything  the  pioneer  sees,  hears, 
or  feels  in  a  wilderness  country.  She  is  unlike  his  country 
in  her  creation.  Her  solemn  mountains,  lone  lakes  — 
her  rushing  streams,  that  dart  like  arrows  from  her  preci- 
pices —  the  roar  of  her  cataracts,  amid  her  rugged  gorges 
—  her  long  and  tranquil  reaches  of  valley  —  the  cold, 
solemn,  and  quiet  pictures  of  Nature  that  she  mingles 
and  groups  on  her  canvas,  give  soul  and  spirit  to  the 
people  who  are  nursed  upon  her  soil  ;  and  they,  too, 
grow  gigantic,  like  the  objects  around  them  —  patriotism, 
integrity,  firmness,  germinate  and  become  athletic  in  such 
fastnesses  :  Liberty  last  expires  upon  the  mountains. 

Why  was  civil  and  religious  liberty  planted,  amid  De- 
cember snows,  upon  her  inhospitable  coast  ?  Why  was 
it  committed  to  her  rugged  elements  of  Nature,  if  not  to 
harden  the  men,  and  strengthen  and  preserve  principles? 
Had  the  "May  Flower  discharged  its  freight  of  ideas 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  347 

amid  abundance,  soft  skies,  and  a  teeming  soil,  it  is  not 
certain  that  the  Declaration  would  have  been  signed 
in  1776. 

How  different  is  the  great  West !  One  great  plain  of 
prairie  and  woodland,  reaching  from  zone  to  zone,  fairly 
bursting  with  the  richness  of  its  varied  soil  and  climate 
—  reserved,  as  it  were,  by  Providence,  to  receive  the  less 
hardy  and  vigorous  generations  which  time  might  throw 
off  upon  her  —  tame  in  scenery,  but  filled  with  the  re- 
sources of  wealth  and  power. 

But  New  England  is  not  only  unlike  the  West  in  its 
creation,  but  her  people,  from  a  thousand  causes,  have 
fixed  and  established  habits  and  customs  as  unlike.  And 
all  these  have  become  as  stereotyped  by  ages,  as  the 
figures  upon  a  panorama.  The  New  England  panorama, 
in  all  its  essential  features,  rolls  off  to-day  as  it  did  years 
ago.  Who  has  not  been  impressed  with  this  truth  ? 
Select  an  old  New  England  town  —  analyze  it  as  you 
once  knew  it,  and  as  it  is  now.  How  was  it,  how  is  it 
made  up?  It  was  finished  then — the  last  blow  was 
struck,  the  last  foundation  laid,  the  rubbish  all  cleared 
away ;  as  if  it  only  waited  for  the  final  explosion  of  all 
things  —  even  the  magnificent  elms  that  solemnly  swept 
its  streets,  grew  no  longer  —  the}7,  too,  had  reached 
maturity,  and  gone  to  sleep.  So  it  is  now. 

A  western  village,  in  its  general  aspect,  presents  the 
very  reverse  of  this.  Like  Jonah's  gourd,  it  is  the  "  son 
of  a  night. "  It  seems  to  have  been  thrown  up  by  an 
army  on  the  march  —  and  such  is  the  fact  —  the  mighty 
army  of  pioneers,  who  are  here  to-day  and  there  to- 
morrow, and  who  are  only  traced  by  such  huge  footsteps. 

The  people  of  a  New  England  village  appear  to  have 


348  THE   PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

been  procured,  assorted  and  arranged,  for  their  positions 
and  occupations.  Each  person  treads  in  his  own  circle  — 
each  is  stamped  with  a  value — branded  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent.  There  is  the  conservative  gentleman — the 
dash  that  connects  generations  —  he  who  has  taken  a 
preemption  right  to  respectability  —  whose  patent  dates 
away  back  among  historical  reminiscences  and  dead 
bones  —  whose  presence  is  prima  facie  evidence  of  all 
that  is  claimed  and  exercised.  A  man  of  authority  is  he. 
He  carries  an  odor  of  the  past  around  with  him  —  an 
air  —  a  something  that  smells  of  blood  —  a  consciousness 
that  some  time,  or  somehow,  somebody  or  something 
had  given  his  ancestors  a  cross  that  followed  and  sub- 
limated his  whole  race. 

Such  men  impress  a  consequence  upon  objects  around 
them.     Their  family  carriages  look  wise  and  venerable 

—  heirlooms  embalmed  by  generations  gone.     They  drive 
horses  that  think  and  know  who  and  what  they  are  — 
and    who    live    and    die    under   the   protection    of  their 
masters.       Their    church-pews    blaze    in    crimson  —  are 
piled  with  cushions,  arrayed  with  stools,  and  tables,  and 
books,  with  two  pillows  and  a  foot-stove  in  the  corner, 
for    the    old    lady  of  seventy,  who  wheezes    and    takes 
snuff. 

Perhaps,  reader,  you  have  met  just  such  a  New  Eng- 
land character.     He  never  moves  below  a  line  in  society 

—  a  line  as  arbitrary  with  him  as  36°  30'.      He  had  a 
broad  face,  double  chin,  heavy  nose,   wide-brimmed  hat, 
and  buff  vest,  filled  with  ruffles.     You  have  heard  him 
deliver  his  opinion  upon  a  question  of  public  policy,  or 
public  morals  —  his  voice  slow  and  sepulchral  —  his  man- 
ner heavy,  almost  melancholy  —  made  impressive  through 


HUMORS   OF   TPIE    WEST.  349 

the  aid  of  a  gold-headed  cane,  with  which  he  occasionally 
beats  out  the  emphatic  portions  of  his  homily.  Perhaps 
you  attempted  to  make  a  suggestion  yourself — if  you 
did,  you  recollect  the  frown,  the  reproof  that  came  down 
upon  you,  from  those  cold,  gray  eyes  of  his,  and  perhaps 
the  shock  you  inflicted  upon  the  timid  around  you,  from 
your  impudence. 

This  class  do  not,  by  any  means,  constitute  the  back- 
bone of  New  England.  The  enterprise  that  breaks 
through  her  mountains,  upheaves  her  valleys,  and  sends 
the  iron  horse  on  its  way  —  creates  the  roar  of  machinery 
that  reverberates  among  her  hills  —  grasps  with,  and 
battles  for,  the  public  questions  of  the  day  —  pours  a  tide 
of  life  and  energy  into  everything  around  —  which  makes 
itself  felt  through  the  long  arms  of  commerce  in  every 
part  of  the  world,  and  whose  touch  electrifies  every  mart 

—  this  enterprise  is  born,  and  quickened,  and  sustained 
somewhere  else.     These    men    are   the  mere   spectators 
of  all  this  bustle.     They  are  rather  drag-weights  upon  it 

—  the    acknowledged    conservative    army  of  "masterly 
inactivity/' 

These  conservatives  are  not  without  value,  but  they 
can  only  exist  in  a  fixed  state  of  society.  They  are  the 
work  of  ages,  and  cannot  be  created  in  a  breath.  No 
such  characters  can  be  found  in  the  western  world.  The 
roots  of  such  a  growth  lie  away  back  among  the  Puritans. 
One  can  smell  Plymouth  Rock,  Cotton  Mather,  Bunker 
Hill,  and  indeed  the  whole  revolutionary  war,  in  the  very 
production.  Pedigree  associations,  musty  ideas,  which 
lie  scattered  everywhere,  and  yet  nowhere  in  particular, 
are  the  foundation  of  this  kind  of  aristocracy  ;  all  of 
which  is  submitted  to  by  custom  and  habit. 


350  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

What  if  an  attempt  should  be  made  to  build  up  such 
a  society  in  a  new  country  ?  Where  would  we  begin  ? 
There  is  no  past  to  hallow  and  dignify  the  present ;  and 
without  a  past  to  draw  upon,  and  anchor  to,  an  aristoc- 
racy would  be  all  afloat.  The  past  of  Puddleford,  so  far 
as  my  researches  go,  ends  in  the  Pottawatomie  Indians 
—  a  little  later  in  Longbow,  Turtle,  and  Bates.  This  is 
the  extent  of  our  resources  ;  and  no  one  has  been  yet 
found  who  was  willing  to  go  into  that  kind  of  business 
on  such  a  capital.  Money,  so  often  the  foundation  of 
pretension,  is  widely  diffused,  in  very  small  parcels. 
Historical  local  incidents  there  are  none.  The  conquest 
of  the  country  was  by  the  axe  and  an  indomitable  spirit. 
There  was  no  blood  nor  brimstone  used.  The  pioneer's 
little  family  of  sinewy  children  was  the  army  that  entered 
it,  and  took  possession  of  the  soil. 

But  the  people  of  New  England,  I  said,  were  assorted. 
The  man  of  business,  the  merchant,  the  mechanic,  was  a 
merchant,  a  mechanic,  in  the  same  place,  the  same  build- 
ing, perhaps  forty  years  ago  —  and  his  whole  life  is  one 
of  order  and  system.  He  lives  by  rule  —  is  as  fixed  in 
his  sphere  as  the  conservative  in  his.  His  income  for 
the  future  can  be  calculated  from  the  past.  His  duties 
are  foreseen  and  provided  for.  Domestic  expenses  so 
much  ;  support  of  the  gospel  so  much  ;  charity  so 
much  ;  pleasure  so  much  ;  which,  deducted  from  income, 
balance,  so  much.  Here,  again,  is  the  fruit  of  a  fixed 
society.  The  creditor  of  a  New  England  merchant  knows 
where  his  customer  will  be  next  year — at  his  old  post, 
or  dead. 

How  is  it  in  a  new  country  ?  Not  one  resident  in  ten 
is  permanently  located.  Every  man  expects  to  remove 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  351 

somewhere  else,  at  some  time.  Here  is  no  association, 
no  tie,  to  bind  him  to  the  soil.  The  pioneer  is  but  a 
passenger  who  has  stopped  over  night,  as  it  were,  and 
he  holds  himself  ready  to  push  forward  at  the  blow  of 
the  trumpet.  Villages,  and  even  whole  townships, 
change  inhabitants  in  short  periods,  and  other  men,  with 
other  views  and  habits,  step  in  and  take  their  places. 
Where  does  the  merchant  creditor  find  his  western  cus- 
tomer of  last  year?  Sold  out,  perhaps,  to  Mr.  A.,  and 
Mr.  A.  sold  to  Mr.  B.,  and  Mr.  B.  to  Mr.  C.  Mr.  C. 
pays  all  arrearages,  and  Mr.  A.  and  B.  are  boating  on 
the  Mississippi,  or  "ballooning"  in  some  fancy  spec u- 
lation  on  the  north  shore  of  the  Oregon. 

While  the  great  West  suffers  from  a  want  of  the 
virtues  that  attend  a  fixed  society,  as  it  undoubtedly 
does,  it  does  not  find  itself  obliged  to  contend  against 
its  prejudices.  There  are  no  arbitrary  lines  drawn, 
based  upon  mere  ideas  —  no  venerable  fictions  in  the 
way.  Custom,  habit,  society,  immemorial  usage,  hang 
no  dead-weights  upon  the  young  and  ambitious.  All 
start  from  the  same  line,  the  prize  is  aloft  in  full  view, 
and  he  who  first  reaches  it  creates  his  own  precedence. 

If  there  is  no  past  to  hallow  and  chasten  the  people 
of  a  new  country,  no  permanent  present  to  hold  them  to 
one  spot,  so  in  one  sense  there  is  no  future.  There  is 
no  locality  that  is  adorned  and  beautified  for  coming 
years  —  no  spot  designated  to  become  venerable  to  pos- 
terity —  no  tree  nursed  and  protected  in  memory  of  him 
who  planted  it  —  no  ground  consecrated  for  the  burial 
of  the  dead.  Houses  are  built,  localities  adorned,  trees 
planted,  cemeteries  erected,  but  they  who  fashioned  all 
this  do  not  abide  with  them  —  they  are  ever  on  the 


352  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

march,  and  the  stranger  takes  possession  of  the  memo- 
rials they  leave  behind  ;  and  if  posterity  should  attempt 
to  collect  the  works  of  such  an  ancestor,  it  would  find 
them  scattered  over  the  circuit  of  states. 

We  have  attempted,  in  a  plain  way,  to  draw  a  com- 
parison, very  briefly,  to  be  sure,  between  a  fixed  and  an 
unfixed  society.  Both  have  their  advantages  and  their 
disadvantages. 

Jf  New  England  is  slow  and  methodical,  she  is  strong. 
She  moves  in  close  phalanx  upon  any  public  question  01 
duty.  The  very  bonds  of  habit  which  pervade  all,  and 
all  alike,  concentrate  and  intensify  her  action.  Her 
people  act  in  a  mass  towards  one  point.  They  strike 
through  organizations  which  are  gigantic  and  reverend 
with  age.  The  Church  gathers  the  energies  and  means 
of  the  benevolent.  Public  opinion  is  harmonious  about 
public  ends.  And  this  very  fixedness  of  society  enables 
its  members  to  push  forward  with  a  unity  and  strength 
almost  omnipotent. 

In  a  new  country,  as  we  have  seen,  action  is  individ- 
ual and  ends  are  individual  ;  men  are  unorganized.  He 
who  goes  forward  with  axe  in  hand  to  hew  his  pathway 
to  competence  and  respectability,  is  governed  by  few 
relics  of  the  past.  He  breaks  away,  in  time  (too  com- 
pletely perhaps),  from  old  associations,  some  of  which 
were  trammels,  being  the  mere  result  of  usage,  and  some 
of  which  he  ought  to  cherish  for  their  intrinsic  excel- 
lence, lie  looks  forward  to  a  country  and  people  in  the 
future  (somewhere  in  the  future  ;  locality  is  nothing), 
and  he  hurries  on,  with  fury  almost,  to  reach  the  desti- 
nation of  his  dreams. 

The  people  of  the  West  are  called  &fast  people.     How 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  353 

ca~j  they  be  otherwise  ?  Their  very  necessities  drive 
them.  They  cannot  fall  back  upon  any  prop  ;  they  can 
move  onward  without  limit.  It  required,  half  a  centurj7 
ago,  the  labor  of  a  generation  to  sweep  off  the  forest,  and 
plant  cities  and  villages  —  but  all  this  is  accomplished  in 
half  of  that  time  now.  Pioneers  grow  more  expanded 
in  their  views.  The  father  of  the  pioneer  of  to-day 
grew  into  consequence  as  a  heavy  landed  proprietor 
upon  a  farm  of  forty  acres  —  his  son  can  hardly  satisfy 
his  ambition  with  six  hundred  —  and  that  is  always  for 
sale  —  (there  is  no  poetry,  as  we  have  seen,  about  a 
western  homestead)  —  and  he  stands  ready  to  vacate 
upon  six  months'  notice  and  a  consideration. 

This  miscellaneous  state  of  society  begets  a  peculiar 
hospitality.  New  England  has  been  famed  for  its  hospi- 
tality ;  but  the  kind  I  mean  is  a  very  different  thing. 
Hospitality  in  an  old  country,  under  the  bonds  of  society, 
is  too  formal,  too  cold,  arid  sometimes  a  little  oppressive. 
It  is  not  alwaj^s  hospitality  ;  it  is,  sometimes,  the  per- 
formance of  a  social  duty,  according  to  the  rules  and 
regulations  prescribed  for  its  observance  —  painful  to  all 
parties  concerned.  It  is  artificial  —  as  hearty,  perhaps, 
as  it  can  be  under  "  bonds. "  The  table,  in  the  West,  is 
always  spread,  and  the  roof  always  offers  shelter.  There 
is  an  ease,  an  abandonment  in  its  exercise,  that  is  posi- 
tively beautiful,  and  can  be  understood  only  when  felt. 

A  fixed  state  of  society  begets  feuds,  and  cherishes 
old  grudges.  A  quarrel  that  originated  between  grand- 
fathers is  often  carried  down  and  kept  brewing.  Fami- 
lies are  divided  from  other  families  for  years,  and 
sometimes  for  generations,  about  matters  of  no  conse- 
quence. It  is  perhaps  a  point  of  etiquette,  a  stinging 
23 


354  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

remark,  an  accidental  or  premeditated  slight,  a  question 
of  dollars  and  cents,  a  political  or  religious  difference 
of  opinion,  that  opened  the  breach  which  will  not  be 
healed.  Thus,  bombshells  are  often  thrown  from  one  to 
another,  by  fathers  and  children  and  grandchildren,  and 
families  kept  in  an  uproar  about  nothing.  This  society 
not  only  cherishes  old  grudges,  but  it  is  nervous  and 
sensitive  to  the  least  touch  of  the  present.  A  morbid 
pride  of  wealth,  family,  position,  is  ever  on  the  look- 
out for  an  attack  upon  its  consequence  —  perhaps  to 
make  an  onslaught  upon  others. 

Here  the  West  has  the  advantage.  There  is  no  one  to 
keep  alive  old  grudges.  Not  one  man  in  a  hundred  can 
tell  what  his  neighbor's  father  or  grandfather  was  — 
where  he  flourished  or  decayed  —  what  were  his  per- 
sonal piques  or  social  battles.  And  as  for  present  causes 
of  personal  war,  they  are  few  —  it  requires  something 
more  than  a  sublimated  idea  or  notion  —  an  antiquated 
figment  of  the  brain  or  present  artificiality  —  to  warm 
up  the  combatants.  The  practical  realities  of  the  West 
are  too  great  and  pressing  to  give  time  or  disposition  to 
dally  with  abstractions.  Gross  outrages  are  quickly 
met  and  redressed  —  they  are  not  carried  down  on  the 
docket  of  time  for  posterity  to  try,  nor  nursed  in  the 
bosom  from  the  revengeful  pleasure  they  afford. 

Reader,  these  are  a  few  of  the  advantages  and  disad- 
vantages of  the  two  states  of  eastern  and  western  society 
—  not  western  society  after  it  becomes  rooted  and  es- 
tablished, as  it  has  in  many  of  the  states  —  but  during 
its  first  ten,  perhaps  twenty  years,  in  its  green  state, 
while  the  gristle  is  hardening  into  bone. 

These  few    suggestions    are  written  in  no  morbid  or 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  355 

carping  spirit.  They  are  written  with  a  consciousness 
of  the  manly  virtues,  and  solid  worth,  of  New  England, 
as  she  is,  and  always  has  been.  They  simply  mark 
points  of  difference  worked  upon  men  by  a  change  of 
soil  and  society  —  points  that  should  be  known,  whether 
approved  or  condemned.  What  son  of  New  England 
does  not  look  back  upon  her  with  pride  ?  What  asso- 
ciations throng  around  him  when  her  name  is  mentioned  ! 
Her  hills,  her  hearts,  her  homes,  send  a  thrill  through 
the  soul,  and  make  him,  for  a  time  at  least,  a  better 
man.  What  armies  of  scholars  have  walked  forth  into 
the  battle  of  life  from  her  cloisters  ?  How  many  have 
been  girded  and  helmeted  in  her  halls  ?  Where  is  the 
spot  where  her  footsteps  are  not  imprinted,  her  cheering 
voice  heard  ?  Shall  we  ever  forget  her  ?  What  sermons 
her  old  homesteads  are  continually  preaching  to  her 
children,  scattered  as  they  are  throughout  every  de- 
gree of  latitude  and  longitude,  in  all  positions  and 
avocations  I  The  cold  brooks,  where  the  trout  darted 
—  the  grove  where  the  nuts  dropped — the  blue  sub- 
limity of  her  mountain-tops,  where  sunlight  first  broke 
in  the  morn,  and  last  died  at  night  —  the  great  shadows 
that  slept  in  her  valleys  —  the  reverberation  of  her 
thunder — her  solemn  "  fasts  and  feasts  " —  her  da}'  of 
Thanksgiving,  that  united  again  the  broken  fragments 
of  the  family  circle  —  the  merry  voice  of  Christmas, 
that  rung  so  cheerily  through  her  halls  —  her  graves, 
that  hold  all  that  remains  of  those  who  were  giants  jn 
religion,  liberty,  and  law,  and  who,  "  although  dead,  yet 
speak  "  —  her  arts  —  her  monuments  —  her  altars,  where 
generations  have  knelt  and  passed  away  —  are  all  living 
eloquence  to  her  children,  and  can  never  be  forgotten,  if 


356  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

not  always  remembered.  She  is  the  Mecca  to  which 
many  a  weary  pilgrim  turns  for  strength  and  counsel 
in  the  storm  and  bustle  of  life,  and  her  brain,  and  her 
capital,  and  her  example  are  felt  throughout  half  the 
globe. 

Let  us  not,  however,  in  our  veneration  for  New  Eng- 
land, forget  the  iron-souled  and  true-hearted  men,  who 
have  gone  forth  from  that  ancient  hive  to  make  a  way 
in  the  wilderness  for  incoming  generations,  whose  march 
is  ever  upon  the  ear.  They  had  their  mission,  too,  and 
nobly  have  they  performed  it.  What  but  Saxon  blood, 
and  Saxon  spirit,  could  have  accomplished  so  much  ? 
If  it  was,  and  still  is,  done  roughly,  it  was  all  done  for 
time,  and  will  stand  —  it  is  something  that  will  bear 
looking  back  upon,  and  of  which  no  son  of  posterity 
will  be  ashamed. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  35Y 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Spring  at  the  West.  —  "  Sugar  Days."  — Performances  of  the  Cat- 
tle.—April.  —  Advent  of  the  Blue-Jays  and  the  Crows. —  The 
Bluebirds,  Phebes,  and  Robins.  — April  and  its  Inspiring  Days. 
—  The  Frogs  and  their  Concerts.  —  Gophers,  Squirrels,  Ants; 
Swallows,  Brown-Threshers,  and  Blackbirds.  —  The  Swallows, 
the  Martins,  and  the  Advent  of  May. 

J^PRING  opens  in  the  western  wilds  with  great  pomp 
and  beauty.  After  our  winter  had  passed,  accom- 
panied with  few  out-door  amusements,  how  inspiring 
were  her  first  footsteps  I  February  slowly  gave  way  to 
March,  the  sun  each  day  rolled  higher  and  higher,  and  the 
heavens  grew  bluer  and  bluer.  Then  came  the  still,  clear, 
cold  nights,  when  the  stars  flashed  like  diamonds,  and  the 
still,  warm  days,  that  flooded  the  lakes  and  streams.  Here 
and  there  a  bird  would  appear  —  one  of  the  more  hardy 
sort —  a  kind  of  courier,  that  had  been  sent  out  by  his  fel- 
lows, lonely,  like  the  dove  from  the  ark,  to  spy  out  the 
land,  and  report  its  condition.  These  couriers,  who  I 
supposed  were  birds  that  were  with  us  the  preceding 
year,  rummaged  around  the  woods,  like  a  family  who  had 
just  returned  to  a  long  deserted  mansion.  They  flew 
from  tree  to  tree,  eyed  the  knot-holes,  examined  every- 
thing, shivered  a  few  nights  on  a  snowy  limb,  and  then 
hurried  back  to  make  their  report.  The  outside  birds 
who  were  thus  represented,  and  who  were  so  anxious  to 


358  THE  PUDDLBFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

11  come  on,"  were  like  a  press  at  the  theatre,  before 
the  hour  had  arrived  to  hoist  the  curtain. 

These  March  days  were  "  sugar  days/'  Puddleford 
was,  of  course,  in  confusion  ;  men,  women,  and  children 
turned  out  with  kettles  and  pans,  into  the  "  bush  ;  "  and 
one  would  have  supposed,  from  the  clouds  of  smoke  that 
rolled  over  the  tops  of  the  trees,  that  a  tribe  of  gypsies 
had  camped  there.  The  girls,  dressed  in  linsey-woolsey, 
were  boisterous ;  the  boys,  uproarious ;  and  a  whole 
army  of  dogs,  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  stormed 
around,  barking  at  every  deer  track,  and  tore  all  the  rot- 
ten logs  in  pieces.  Then  came  a  long,  warm,  still  rain 
—  and  the  frogs  shouted  to  each  other  their  melancholy, 
music  —  and  the  grass  and  the  roots  that  were  soaking 
in  the  marshes  sent  out  their  sweetness  —  the  bud  be- 
gan to  swell  on  the  willow  —  the  geese  gathered  in  a 
procession,  with  some  pompous  gander  at  its  head,  and 
marched  to  the  river  —  and  the  barn-yard  fowls  climbed 
up  into  trees,  on  top  of  the  sheds  and  stacks,  and  cackled, 
and  crowed,  and  clucked,  and  chatted  together,  like  so 
many  guests  at  a  party. 

The  cattle  congregated,  and  wandered  away  off  to  an 
open  plain,  and  went  through  certain  exercises,  the  sig- 
nificance of  which  was  known  only  to  themselves.  One 
old  cow  of  mine,  whose  reputation  was  good,  and  whose 
frosty  bones  had  scarcely  moved  during  the  winter,  and 
who  was  present  at  this  celebration,  suddenly  wheeled 
out  of  the  ranks,  rolled  her  tail  over  her  back,  put  herself 
on  a  circuitous  canter,  cutting  as  many  capers  as  a 
French  dancing-master,  and  brought  up,  at  last,  with  a 
bellowing  blast  that  was  quite  terrific. 

At  a  distance  stood   another  of  the  herd,  frothing  at 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  359 

the  mouth,  lashing  herself  with  her  tail,  and  throwing 
clouds  of  sand  on  high  with  her  fore  feet.  Away,  in 
another  quarter,  were  a  couple  of  very  thoughtful  looking 
animals,  fencing  with  their  horns.  Every  little  while 
some  good  or  evil  spirit  would  take  possession  of  them, 
and  the  whole  company  would  fling  their  tails  aloft,  arid 
with  a  great  noise  go  off  in  a  stampede  that  made  the 
ground  tremble. 

As  April  approached,  or  rather  the  reflected  light  from 
her  distant  wheels,  the  voice  of  the  birds  changed  into  a 
mellower  tone.  The  blue-jay,  whose  harsh  scream  had 
so  long  grated  on  my  ear,  grew  softer,  and  he  blew  once 
in  a  while  one  of  his  spring  pipes  (for  he  is  a  great  imi- 
tator, and  has  many),  which,  after  all,  sounded  rather 
husky  and  winter-like.  Ilis  heart  grew  warmer,  too. 
He  would  sit  on  a  dry  tree  close  to  the  eaves  of  my 
house,  and  peer  through  the  windows,  to  see  what  was 
going  on  inside,  jump  down,  and  bow  himself  up  on  the 
door-steps,  to  remind  us,  in  the  best  way  he  could,  of  the 
sunshine  outside. 

Soon  the  crows  began  to  sweep  solemnly  through  the 
air  with  their  caw  !  caw  1  They  sailed  round  and  round, 
now  lighting  on  some  tree,  now  on  the  ground,  then 
away  they  went  into  the  heavens  again.  They  seemed 
to  betaking  a  very  thorough  examination  of  the  premises, 
making  out  the  lines  of  occupation,  and  acquiring  a 
new  possession  of  the  same,  for  the  use  of  themselves 
and  those  they  represented.  Sometimes  a  body  of  them, 
lazily  winging  their  way  over  my  house,  and  looking 
down  from  their  height  upon  my  diminutive  form,  would 
shower  upon  my  head  ten  thousand  Ga'sl  as  if  in  utter 
contempt  of  both  me  and  mine.  I  occasionally  fired  a 


360  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

shot  at  them,  and  the  only  answer  I  got  was  a  quick 
"  Ca-Ca!  "  —  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Try  it  again  !  Try 
it  again  ?  Who  cares  ?  " 

Then  came  the  bluebird.  I  threw  up  my  window 
amid  the  latter  days  of  March,  one  sunshiny  morning, 
and  there  she  sat  on  a  maple,  blowing  her  flute.  Banks 
of  snow  were  scattered  here  and  there,  but  the  ground 
smelled  moist  and  spring-like.  Where  did  that  little  piece 
of  melody  come  from  ?  Where  was  she  the  day  before  ? 
Her  song  was  a  little  poem  about  south-west  winds,  and 
violets,  and  running  brooks  —  perhaps  she  was  a  preacher, 
sent  out  by  the  daisies  to  herald  their  coming  —  perhaps 
her  song  was  only  a  prayer  —  for  she  went  round  from 
place  to  place,  on  this  tree  and  that,  in  her  little  cathe- 
dral, as  priests  do  in  theirs,  and  erected  her  altar,  and 
made  her  offering.  She  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  a 
great  many  persons  and  things  to  deliver  her  message  to  ; 
for  in  a  little  while  she  went,  rising  and  falling  as  though 
she  were  riding  billows  of  air,  to  the  roof  of  my  neighbor's 
house,  where  she  sang  the  same  song  again  ;  and  after 
thus  spending  an  hour  or  two  about  the  neighborhood, 
she  crossed  the  river,  and  dashed  into  the  woods. 

On  the  next  morning  the  bluebird  came  again,  and 
brought  a  phebe  with  him,  and  the  two  sang  a  kind  of 
duet  for  rny  benefit.  Their  harmony  was  perfect  —  for 
"  there  is  no  discord  in  nature. "  On  the  following  day, 
at  dawn,  before  the  sun  arose,  I  heard  the  robin  rolling 
off  her  mellow  notes.  I  looked  out  and  saw  a  little  flock 
running  along  on  the  ground,  and  picking  at  the  fresh 
earth,  evidently  for  the  purpose  of  determining  its  con- 
dition. This  same  flock,  I  am  sure,  remained  upon  my 
premises  during  the  summer,  and  had,  in  fact,  possession 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  361 

oi  them  for  many  years  previous.  For  they  appeared 
every  day  or  two,  and  grew  more  and  more  inquisitive, 
and  examined  more  closely.  A  couple  finally  took  pos- 
session of  this  tree,  and  a  couple  of  that.  They  com- 
menced "  cleaning  house. "  They  flitted  about  from 
limb  to  limb,  balanced  themselves  on  the  dry  twigs,  as 
if  trying  their  strength  and  elasticity,  ran  themselves 
away  down  into  the  joints,  and  dissected  the  crotches, 
picked  up  and  cast  away  the  dead  moss  and  leaves,  and 
made  as  much  bustle  and  stir  as  a  woman  on  May-day. 

As  I  was  watching  a  couple  of  them  one  day,  while 
they  were  busy  at  work,  they  seemed  quite  annoyed  at 
my  presence.  They  flirted  off  from  the  tree  to  a  fence 
near  by,  with  a  mellow  cry  —  saying,  plainly  enough, 
as  they  bobbed  around,  "What!  what!77  "Any-thing- 
wrong  ?  Any-thing-wrong  ?  "  "  Please-go-away  —  ha- 
ha-please-goaway." 

Some  four  weeks  later,  these  birds  began  to  build. 
They  went  sailing  through  the  air  'with  the  timbers  of 
their  castle  in  their  mouths.  This  timber  was  selected 
with  great  care.  Straw  after  straw,  and  sprig  after  sprig, 
was  picked  up  and  cast  away  before  the  right  one  was 
found.  They  remained  with  me  during  their  stay  north, 
and  returned  each  succeeding  year  to  the  same  tree, 
until  the  woods  all  about  me  were  felled,  when  they  de- 
serted me  for  other  quarters. 

April  shone  out  at  last.  Away  down  in  the  wild 
meadows  the  cowslip  pushed  up  its  green  head  into  the 
sunshine,  and  along  the  warm  hill-sides  the  wind-flowers 
were  strewn.  How  they  came  there,  I  cannot  tell.  The 
day  before  it  was  all  bleak,  and  chilly,  and  flowcrless 
there.  They  must  have  been  scattered  by  the  morning 


362  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

rays  of  light.  A  melting  bank  of  snow  frowned  dowt 
upon  them,  close  by.  Soon  the  shade-tree  sent  out  its 
blossoms  of  lilac,  and  the  dog-wood  burst  into  a  pile  of 
snow.  The  hard,  gray,  leafless  trees  stood  up  sternly 
around  these  first  daughters  of  spring,  arrayed  in  their 
garments  of  pomp,  and  looked,  as  well  as  inanimate 
things  can  look,  jealous  and  uneasy.  All  over  the  aisles 
of  the  forest  lay  enormous  trunks  of  trees,  like  columns 
about  an  unfinished  temple,  thickly  coated  with  a  heavy 
green  moss  ;  arid  there  was  a  smell  of  bark,  and  swelling 
twigs,  and  struggling  roots — such  a  smell  as  only  the 
early  spring  days  give  out  —  as  though  the  earth  and  the 
forest  were  just  gaping  and  stretching  with  a  decayed 
last  year's  breath,  before  rousing  up  to  the  duties  of  this. 

Then  the  rivulets  began  to  get  into  tune.  The  one 
that  ran  tumbling  through  the  woods  seemed  to  be  in  a 
very  great  hurry,  and  shot  around  its  islands  of  moss  and 
promontories  of  tree-roots  with  great  zeal.  It  had  un- 
wound from  its  reel  "of  light  arid  moisture  a  green  ribbon, 
that  lay  along  its  shores  miles  and  miles  away  in  the 
wilderness  ;  arid  the  birds  slyly  bathed  themselves  in  its 
waters ;  and  now  and  then  a  small  fish  came  rushing 
down  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  just  returning  from  his 
winter  quarters  to  the  river,  probably  to  enter  his  name 
upon  the  great  piscatorial  roll  preparatory  to  summer 
service. 

In  a  basin,  just  below  a  litllo  fall  of  this  brook,  two  or 
three  wood-ducks  were  ploughing  round  and  round. 
These  wood-ducks  are  hermits,  and  secrete  themselves  in 
ponds  and  watery  thickets,  where  silence  and  shadows 
prevail.  On  one  of  these  mornings,  ruminating  on  its 
banks,  sat  Venison  Styles,  his  gun  resting  on  the 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  353 

ground,  apparently  in  a  profound  study.  I  looked  at  the 
old  hunter  a  long  time,  and  his  figure  was  as  fixed  and 
immovable  as  if  he  were  a  part  of  the  landscape,  arid  had 
grown  there  like  the  trees  about  him.  What  can  the  old 
man  be  dreaming  about  ?  thought  I.  Perhaps  he  already 
hears  the  approaching  footsteps  of  dancing  May,  her  head 
crowned  with  flowers,  and  the  music  of  the  thousand 
birds  that  supported  her  train.  It  was  already  spring  — 
summer  —  in  his  soul.  lie  was  thinking  of  the  sports  of 
the  coming  year,  and  the  light  and  pomp  of  the  seasons 
passed  before  his  imagination  like  the  gorgeous  pictures 
of  a  panorama. 

These  April  days  were  inspiring.  Occasionally  a  bleak 
squall  of  rain  or  snow  obscured  the  sky,  and  silenced  the 
music  of  Nature  ;  but  the  heavens  looked  bluer,  and  the 
birds  sang  more  lustily,  after  it  passed  away.  In  the 
latter  part  of  the  month  the  ground  became  settled, 
and  the  frogs,  towards  evening,  and  sometimes  during 
the  moist,  smoky  afternoons,  sent  up  their  melancholy 
wailing  from  the  wide  wastes  of  marsh  that  stretched 
themselves  through  the  woods  and  along  the  river  banks. 
Some  of  these  marshes  were  ten  miles  long,  and  two  or 
three  broad  ;  and  such  a  concert  of  voices  as  congregated 
there  was  never  equalled  by  anything  else.  I  had,  and 
still  have,  notions  of  my  own  about  these  vocalists.  I  . 
am  sure  that  they  sang  under  discipline  and  system  — 
that  they  performed  on  different  kinds  of  instruments. 
Some  of  them  seemed  to  be  blowing  a  flageolet  ;  others 
drew  their  bows  across  their  violins  ;  some  played  the 
fife  ;  while  here  and  there  might  be  heard  grum  twangs, 
like  the  twanging  of  bass-viol  strings.  He  who  listened 
long  and  closely  might  detect  delicate  vibrations  of  almost 


364  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

every  tone  in  art  or  nature.  Sometimes  their  voices 
sounded  like  the  dying-  echoes  of  ten  thousand  bells,  all 
of  a  different  kej7,  yet  the  tangled  melody  was  an  entan- 
glement of  chords  and  discords,  and  it  rolled  away,  and 
expired  in  waves  of  pure  harmony  ;  again,  it  was  like  a 
choir  of  human  voices  performing  an  anthem.  I  thought 
I  could  hear  syllables,  too  —  the  articulation  of  words  — 
something  like  a  psalm.  Then  the  words  and  sounds  ap- 
peared to  change,  and,  by  the  aid  of  the  imagination,  one 
would  have  supposed  that  the  whole  community  were 
shouting — delivering  political  harangues  —  or  that  its 
members  had  got  on  a  "bust,"  and  were  rattling  off  all 
kinds  of  nonsense  in  a  drunken  frolic. 

April  brought  with  it,  too,  flying  showers  and  warm 
sunshine.  The  grass  began  to  wake  up,  and  scent  the 
air  with  its  sweetness.  Along  the  watercourses  the 
willows  unfolded  their  leaves  ;  the  buds  swelled  in  the 
forests ;  and  the  tree-tops  were  touched  with  a  light 
shade  of  brown,  and  then  a  shade  of  green,  which  grew 
deeper  and  deeper  each  day.  Large  flocks  of  pigeons 
darkened  the  air,  all  moving  from  south  to  north,  —  from 
whence,  or  to  where,  I  could  not  tell.  A  company  would 
sometimes  "  hold  up  "  for  an  hour  or  two,  to  "  feed  and 
rest,"  like  a  caravan  at  an  oasis ;  but  they  soon  took 
their  wings  again,  and  pursued  their  journey. 

The  tenants  of  the  ground  burst  their  tombs,  and  came 
up  for  duty.  The  gopher,  and  squirrel,  and  the  ant 
went  to  work.  I  noticed  a  large  community  of  ants  who 
had  commenced  building  a  city.  Their  last  year's  me- 
tropolis was  destroyed,  and  they  were  compelled  to  be- 
gin from  the  foundation  ;  and  such  a  stir  and  bustle  was 
never  exceeded.  Hundreds  of  laborers  were  in  the  work 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  365 

up  to  their  eyes.  Here  was  one  fellow  with  a  grain  of 
sand  in  his  mouth  —  a  rock  to  him,  I  suppose  —  climbing 
over  twigs  and  dead  grass,  standing  sometimes  perpen- 
dicular with  his  load,  and  not  unfrequently  falling  over 
backwards,  yet  struggling  away,  surmounting  all  obsta- 
cles, until  he  finally  reached  the  place  of  deposit.  Then 
there  was  a  class  of  miners  who  shot  up  from  their  holes, 
dropped  their  speck  of  dirt,  wheeled,  and  shot  back  again. 
Trains  of  them  were  contmuall}'  ascending  and  descend- 
ing. There  was  still  another  class  —  "blooded  charac- 
ters," most  likely  —  possibly  overseers  —  who  did  not 
do  any  work,  but  ran  around  from  point  to  point,  as  if 
inspecting  the  rest,  and  giving  to  them  directions.  Once 
in  a  while  a  couple  of  workmen  would  run  a-foul  of  each 
other,  and  get  into  a  quarrel  —  a  clinch  —  a  fight —  arid 
the  "  tussle  "  lasted  until  they  were  parted.  This  colony, 
I  will  say,  erected  a  large  mound  of  earth  in  a  very  few 
weeks  —  gigantic  to  them  as  an  Egyptian  pyramid  is  to 
us  —  in  which  they  lived  arid  labored  during  the  season. 
Finally,  the  swallows,  and  brown-threshers,  and  black- 
birds, and  martins  came  —  not  all  in  a  body,  but  strag- 
gling along.  The  blackbirds  appeared  first,  and  might 
be  seen  flying  about  from  tree  to  tree,  and  fence  to  fence, 
near  by  the  upturned  furrows  that  the  ploughman  had 
left  behind  him.  Such  a  saucy  troop  of  pirates  as  they 
were!  Flocks  of  them  sat  about  in  the  oaks,  showering 
a  host  of  epithets  upon  the  said  ploughman  ;  then  a  dozen 
or  more  darted  down,  staggered  over  the  ground,  picked 
up  a  worm,  and  dashed  away  into  the  oaks  again.  They 
scolded,  and  fretted,  and  coaxed,  and  threatened,  and 
nettled  about  like  a  belle  of  sixteen.  Some  of  them  were 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  glossy  black,  with  a  neckcloth 


366  THE  PUDDLBFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

of  shifting  green  ;  others  wore  red  epaulets  on  their 
wings ;  and  a  flock  of  them,  darting  through  the  air,  had 
the  appearance  of  braided  streams  of  fire,  or  interlaced 
rainbows.  Towards  evening  they  all  went  down  among 
the  alders  and  willows  by  the  river,  and  had  a  long  chat 
among  themselves.  They  bowed,  and  twitched,  and 
stretched  down  one  wing,  and  then  the  other ;  lit  upon 
the  little  twigs,  and  see-sawed  as  they  sung,  and  did 
many  other  things.  They  were  evidently  erecting  them- 
selves into  some  kind  of  a  government  for  the  year  — 
holding  a  caucus  —  perhaps  an  election  —  deposing  an 
old  monarch,  or  elevating  a  new  ;  for  it  was  easy  to  hear 
them  say  what  they  would  do,  and  what  they  wouldn't 
—  that  is,  easy  for  one  who  has  studied  the  blackbird 
language  —  and  sometimes  an  awful  threat  might  be  de- 
tected, mixed  with  a  great  many  wheedling  words  and 
gracious  postures. 

The  brown-threshers  came  next,  and  they  were  just  as 
full  of  chatter  and  life  as  they  were 'the  year  before. 
Birds  never  glow  old,  it  seems  to  me,  nor  have  I  ever 
been  able  to  determine  when  or  where  they  die.  The 
hunter  kills  but  a  very  few,  and  those  few  of  a  certain 
kind.  What  becomes  of  the  rest  ?  They  breed  every 
spring  in  great  numbers  ;  but  how,  when,  and  where  do 
they  die  ?  We  do  riot  find  dead  birds  in  the  woods  ;  at 
any  rate,  very  few.  Yes,  the  brown  threshers  were  as 
young  as  ever.  They  looked  very  shabby  and  mussed 
when  I  last  saw  them  in  the  fall  ;  but  now  their  brown 
clothes  shone  as  cleanly  as  a  Quaker-girl's  shawl.  They 
took  up  Nature's  music-book,  and  rattled  off  all  the  songs, 
and  glees,  and  anthems  in  it  —  very  often  making  a 
medley  of  it,  mixing  the  notes  of  the  birds  that  were 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  36T 

chanting  around  all  together  —  and  they  often  closed  the 
performance  with  an  original  strain  of  their  own,  com- 
posed on  the  spot. 

When  the  swallows  and  the  martins  came,  I  knew  that 
spring  was  fully  established.  They  appeared  suddenly 
during  the  night ;  for  when  the  May  sun  arose,  they 
were  twittering  and  wheeling  through  the  air,  shooting 
up  and  plunging  down  in  a  kind  of  delicious  rapture. 
Their  music  was  set  on  the  staff  of  blue  skies,  south-west 
winds,  and  flowers.  There  was  not  a  note  of  winter  in 
it.  The  woods,  and  streams,  and  fields  seemed  to  have 
been  waiting  for  their  melody,  for  all  Nature  went  to 
work,  and  was  soon  clad  in  beauty,  and  light,  and  song. 


368  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  Railroad  through  Puddleford.  —  Effect  on  Squire  Longbow.  — 
Bright  Prospects  of  Puddleford.  —  Change.  —  "The  Styleses." 
—  The  New  Justice.  —  Aunt  Sonera's  Opinions. — Ike  Turtle 
grows  too.  —  Venison  disappears  from  among  Men.  —  His  Grave, 
and  his  Epitaph. 

Y)EADER,  I  have  written  for  you  the  history  of  a  year's 
-"  residence  at  Puddleford.  But  the  place  is  changed 
now  —  very  much  changed.  It  is  not  what  it  used  to 
be  —  its  people,  its  habits,  are  very  different.  This 
change  was  the  result  of  a  variety  of  causes.  The  first 
thing  that  happened  to  it —  a  startling  event  it  was  —  a 
railroad  was  built  plump  through  its  heart.  It  was  a 
road  .running  a  great  distance,  and  it  took  Puddleford  in 
its  way  merely  because  it  happened  to  fall  in  its  line.  I 
shall  never  forget  Squire  Longbow's  frenzied  excitement 
the  first  time  the  locomotive  came  puffing  and  whistling 
in.  lie  actually  lost  his  dignity  for  the  moment.  He 
ran  arid  wheezed  after  the  steam-horse  like  a  madman, 
lost  his  green  eye-shade,  and  committed  a  very  serious 
breach  in  the  rear  part  of  his  pantaloons.  He  did  not 
venture  veiy  near  the  machine  at  first,  but  sheltered  him- 
self behind  a  tree,  where  he  could  watch  its  panting  and 
spitting  without  danger. 

I  recollect  how  pompously  the  Squire  talked  on  this 
occasion.     He  said  "  all  nater  couldn't  stop  Puddleford 


HUMORS    OF  THE   WEST.  359 

having  ten  thousand  inhabitants  'fore  Another  census  — • 
she'd  be  one  of  the  emporiums  (emporiums)  of  the  West 
—  it  was  nothing  on  airth  that  made  Greece  and  Rome 
but  these  great  etarnal  improvements  "  —  and  as  he  was 
a  kind  of  oracle  among  a  large  class,  he  infused  a  spirit 
of  consequence  and  importance  into  those  around  him 
that  was  quite  ludicrous.  Ike  Turtle,  Sile  Bates,  the 
Beagles,  and  Swipes,  and  many  other's,  actually  mounted 
their  Sunday  clothes,  and  wore  them  every  day  —  but 
whether  Ike  himself  was  in  fun  or  earnest,  no  person 
could  tell. 

The  building  of  this  road  was  the  cause  of  a  great 
change  certainly ;  yet  it  changed  not  the  population  it- 
self, but  substituted  another  in  its  stead.  It  brought  in 
a  class  of  persons  who  had  money,  and  money  is  omnip- 
otent everywhere.  It  brought  different  habits,  thoughts, 
and  feelings.  The  "  Styles  family "  first  purchased  a 
large  farm  near  the  village.  There  was  an  air  about 
them  that  fairly  awed  the  Puddlefordians.  They  were 
petted,  run  after,  imitated.  One  could  hear  nothing  but 
"Young  Mr.  Styles/'  "  Old  Mr.  Styles,"  "The  elderly 
Mrs.  Styles,"  "  Miss  Arabella  Styles,"  "  Miss  Florinda 
Styles."  Miss  Florinda  and  Arabella  wore  flaring  under- 
clothes in  those  days,  arid  this  fashion  fairly  upset  the 
heads  of  the  Puddleford  ladies  ;  and  in  less  than  a  month 
I  could  not  identify  half  the  women  of  the  place.  Their 
shrunken  forms,  stuffed  with  skirts,  were  about  the  shape 
of  little  pyramids. 

Purchases  of  farms  and  village  property  went  on,  year 

after   year,   until    nearly  every  true   Puddlefordian    was 

ousted.     The  place  has  now,  like  the  snake,  cast  its  skin  ; 

and  the  old  pioneers,  they  who  hewed  down  the  forest, 

24 


370  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

and  "  bore  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day/'  are  living1 
around  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  with  hardly  a  compe 
tence,  or  have  emigrated  to  wilds  still  farther  west. 

Squire  Longbow,  however,  still  holds  his  own.  lie 
still  lives  on  the  old  spot  —  is  just  as  wise  and  happy  as 
ever.  Time  has  not  affected  his  intellect,  or  impaired  his 
self-consequence.  He  is  no  longer  justice  of  the  peace, 
but  in  his  place  we  have  a  pert,  dapper,  little  fellow,  who 
wears  a  large  ring  on  his  little  finger,  and  gives  very 
scholastic  opinions.  The  Squire  professes  to  hold  him 
in  contempt,  and  says  he  "  runs  agin  the  staterts  and 
common  law  mor'n  half  the  time  "  —  that  "he  don't 
know  a  fiery  factus  from  a  common  execution"  —  that 
"  he  never  looks  inter  the  undying  Story  for  'thority,  but 
goes  on  squashing  papers,  right  straight  agin  the  constitu- 
tion and  the  efarnal  rights  of  man/' 

Aunt  Sonora  was  dissatisfied,  too,  with  the  revolution 
in  society.  She  told  me,  the  last  time  I  saw  her,  that 
Puddleford  was  "  made  up  of  a  hull  passel  of  fiip-er-ter- 
gib-its,  and  she  couldn't  see  what  in  created  natur'  the 
place  was  a-comiri'  to  —  she  never  see'd  such  works  in 
all  her  born  days/7  that  "  the  men  wore  broadcloth,  arid 
the  women  silks,  and  flar'd  and  spread  about  like  pea- 
cocks. Nobody  does  nuthin',"  said  she.  "  The  dear 
massy  !  They  are  getting  so  hoity-toity  !  1  do  wonder 
who  pays  !  " 

Ike  Turtle  is  about  the  only  person  who  has  grown 
with  the  place.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  keeping  him 
under.  He  is  just  as  humorous  as  ever,  but  a  little  more 
polished.  Ike  says  "  it  won't  do  to  let  his  natur'  out  as 
he  used  to,  when  the  bushes  were  thick,  and  Squire 
Longbow  was  gov'ner  "  —  that  "  he  feels  himself  almost 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  371 

a-bustin'  with  one  of  his  speeches,  sometimes  ;  but  the 
folks  wouldn't  understand  him  if  he  made  it  —  and  as 
for  law,  he'd  gin  it  all  up  —  it  had  got  to  be  so  nice  and 
genteel  an  article,  there  warn't  a  grain  of  justis'  in  it  — 
everything  was  'peal'd  up,  and  'peal'd  up,  until  both  par- 
ties themselves  were  'peal'd  to  death."  Ike  has  turned 
his  attention  to  land  and  saw-mills,  and  is  getting  rich. 

Poor  Venison  Styles  !  Dear  old  hunter  !  Venison  is 
dead,  and  his  children  are  scattered  in  the  wilderness, 
lie  was  found,  one  May  morning,  stretched  out  under  a 
large  maple,  his  dog  and  gun  by  his  side,  stiff  and  cold. 
The  brown-threshers  and  bluebirds  were  singing  merrily 
above  him,  and  the  squirrels  were  chattering  their  non- 
sense in  the  distance.  His  dog  lay  with  his  nose  near 
his  master's  face,  his  fore  paw  upon  his  shoulder.  How 
he  died,  no  one  could  tell.  He  is  buried  on  a  bluff  that 
overlooks  the  river  ;  and  I  have  fenced  his  grave,  and 
erected  a  stone  over  his  remains,  with  this  inscription  — 
"  Nature  loved  him,  if  man  did  not." 


372  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

The  Philosophy  of  Puddleford.  — Diverse  Elements  in  Pioneer  Life. 
—  Longbow  and  his  Administration. — Not  Expensive. — Two 
Hundred  a  Year,  all  told.  —  What  would  Chief  Justice  Marshall 
have  done  as  Justice  of  Puddleford  ?  —  Longbow  a  great  Man.  — 
Fame  and  Politics.  —  Ike,  a  Wheel. — Puddleford  Theology. — 
Camp-Meetings.  —  Who  will  do  Bigelow's  Work  better  than  Bige- 
low?. —  Great  Happiness,  and  few  Nerves. — No  "  Society."  — 
No  Fashion  in  Clothes,  or  anything  else.  —  BulPs-Eye  and  Pinch- 
beck. —  The  Great  Trade  didn't  "  Come  Off."  —  Abounding  Char- 
ity and  Hospitality. — Pilgrim  Blood. — Longbow's.  —  Planting 
the  Mud-Sills.  —  Old  Associations,  how  Controlling !  —  Good  by, 
Header. 

READER,  I  cannot  dismiss  Puddleford  without  adding 
a  chapter  in  conclusion.  The  pictures  I  have  drawn 
suggest  to  me  something  more.  There  is  a  philosophy 
that  underlies  the  dignity  of  Longbow,  the  humor  of  Tur- 
tle, the  rough  sincerity  of  Aunt  Sonora,  the  stormy  and 
eccentric  eloquence  of  Bigelow.  Do  you  not  think  so  ? 

Puddleford  was  like  a  thousand  other  new  settlements 
—  it  had  its  green  state  to  pass  through  ;  and  Puddleford '& 
pioneers  were  like  other  pioneers  —  rough,  honest,  hardy, 
strong  in  common  sense,  but  weak  in  the  books.  It  was 
not  a  perfect  organization,  packed  beforehand  with  men 
fitted  to  all  the  stations  of  life,  like  Hooker  and  his  band. 
But  one  pioneer  came  after  another  —  and  notions,  creeds, 


HUMORS    OF   THE    WEST.  373 

and  prejudices,  were  all  tumbled  in  together.  Puddle- 
ford  prospered,  nevertheless.  Every  man  was  right  upon 
the  question  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  Each  person 
brought  this  law  with  him,  written  on  his  soul ;  arid, 
however  clumsily  he  might  give  it  expression,  the  law 
was  there,  and  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  it  any  more 
than  he  could  throw  off  his  nature.  If  Longbow  admin- 
istered the  details  of  jurisprudence  awkwardly,  Longbow 
was,  after  all,  right  in  leading  principles.  If  Longbow 
at  times  trampled  down  technicalities,  the  community,  on 
the  average,  did  not  suffer.  If  Longbow  even  made  a 
little  law  now  and  then,  to  fill  a  gap,  it  was  well  made, 
and  the  gap  well  filled.  Longbow  might  as  well  have 
attempted  to  shave  an  elephant  with  a  razor  as  to  manage 
the  raw  recruits  of  early  Puddleford  with  subtle  distinc- 
tions ;  and,  besides,  Longbow,  as  the  reader  has  discov- 
ered, had  no  knowledge  of  that  kind  of  instrument,  nor 
was  it  necessary  that  he  should  have.  Longbow's  legal 
rules  necessarily  ran  on  a  sliding-scale,  and  he  fitted  them 
to  the  case  in  hand,  not  to  cases  in  general. 

The  reader  sees,  then,  a  necessity  for  such  men  as 
Longbow  in  such  a  community.  If  it  is  impossible  to 
find  a  man  capable  of  preparing  a  technical  set  of  legal 
papers,  it  is  important  to  find  a  man  who  is  incapable  or 
unwilling  to  break  them  down.  No  man  ever  slipped 
through  Longbow's  fingers  upon  a  mere  technicality. 

Again,  Longbow's  judicial  duties  were  not  expensive. 
An  expensive  judicial  tribunal  would  have  ruined  Pud- 
dleford outright.  Puddleford  was  not  only  obliged  to 
use  such  timber  as  it  had  for  public  men,  but  the  timber 
must  also  be  cheap.  Longbow  was  no  mahogany  judge, 
polished  and  wrought  into  scrolls,  though  there  were  a 


374  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

great  many  lines  and  angles  about  him.  He  was  a  plain 
piece  of  green-ash,  strong,  yet  elastic  enough  to  bend 
when  justice  demanded.  He  was  not  an  expensive  arti- 
cle, and  therefore  the  interest  the  public  paid  upon  him 
was  small.  He  would  sit  all  day,  amid  the  war  and  tu- 
mult of  contending  litigants,  arid  breast  the  storm  of 
insult  that  was  heaped  upon  him  from  the  right  and  the 
left,  for  four  shillings  and  sixpence.  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  he  lacked  self-respect  —  no  man  respected  him- 
self more  —  but  he  had,  somehow  or  somewhere,  imbibed 
the  idea  that  pettifoggers  were  entitled  to  great  latitude 
of  speech,  and  that  he  was  paid  for  listening  to  them.  I 
have  seen  the  Squire  many  a  time  passing  through  one 
of  these  conflicts,  when  his  name  was  used  very  irrever- 
ently, holding  as  solemn  a  face  as  that  worn  by  a  marble 
statue  of  Solon. 

Longbow's  annual  income  amounted  to  about  two  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year,  and  this  Puddleford  could  "  stand. " 
But  he  had  many  duties  to  perform  outside  of  his  office 
of  magistrate  to  insure  him  this  amount.  As  I  have  said 
elsewhere,  he  was  the  grand  Puddleford  umpire,  and,  I 
am  very  certain,  settled  more  difficulties  as  a  man  than  a 
magistrate.  School  and  highway  districts  and  officers 
often  got  twisted  in  a  snarl,  and  Longbow  unravelled  the 
knot — right  or  wrong  it  matters  not,  he  put  a  finish  to 
the  matter  ;  and,  whether  right  or  wrong,  reader,  what 
difference  did  it  make  so  long  as  no  one  else  knew  it,  and 
everybody  had  confidence  ?  If  confidence  will  sustain  a 
bank,  ought  not  confidence  to  sustain  Squire  Longbow  ? 

And  then  A.'s-pigs  broke  into  B.'s  garden  —  A.'s  line- 
fence  stood  three  feet  on  B.'s  land.  A.  swore  there  was 
a  legal,  lawful  highway  across  B.'s  land  ;  B.  swore  it 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  375 

was  no  such  thing1,  and  he  would  shoot  the  first  man  who 
crossed  it.  A.  called  B.  a  thief,  andB.  called  A.  another. 
A.  agreed  to  break  up  for  B.,  but  never  did,  because  B. 
refused  to  clear  his  land.  A.  and  B.  exchanged  horses  ; 
A.'s  horse  had  the  heaves,  and  B.'s  was  spavined  ;  and  so 
on,  trouble  after  trouble,  how  often  and  many  in  kind  I 
cannot  say,  Squire  Longbow  has  brought  to  a  compro- 
mise. These  were  extrajudicial  services,  and  the  two 
hundred  dollars  a  year  covered  all. 

If  it  had  been  possible  to  place  Chief  Justice  Marshall, 
or  even  a  finished  city  lawyer,  in  the  seat  of  Squire  Long- 
bow, how  signally  he  must  have  failed  !  He  would  have 
been  utterly  incompetent  to  the  task,  and  would  have 
burned  his  books,  and  fled  from  the  settlement  under 
cover  of  night.  Confusion  is  often  the  best  manager  of 
confusion.  A  clean,  clear,  analytical  mind  might  have 
flashed  now  and  then,  but  it  could  never  have  governed 
the  storm.  While  our  finished  lawyer  was  playing 
about  a  refined  distinction,  Longbow  would  bury  all  dis- 
tinctions "ten  fathoms  deep/'  and  end  all  controversy 
by  repeating  some  old  saying,  and  dismiss  the  whole 
matter  as  summarily  as  the  adjournment  of  a  cause. 

Longbow  was  not  only  a  good  man,  a  cheap  man,  but 
he  was  a  great  man.  Greatness  is  relative,  not  absolute. 
I  hope  my  friends  do  not  intend  to  dispute  the  truth  of 
this  proposition  ;  because  I  have  the  documents  to  prove 
it,  when  officially  called  upon  to  do  so.  Great  men  are 
like  figures  on  a  thermometer  —  some  thermometers,  it 
is  true,  are  much  longer,  and  contain  a  great  many  more 
figures  than  others.  The  only  question  any  ambitious 
man  cares  to  ask  is,  how  many  figures  there  are  on  the 
scale  above  his.  The  Puddleford  thermometer  was  very 


376  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

short,  dear  reader,  and  Longbow's  figure  was  the  higl  • 
est.  Is  not  this  fame  ?  Puddleford  fame,  say  you  ? 
Puddleford  fame,  indeed  !  It  will  outlast,  I  will  wager 
my  old  hat,  the  fame  of  nine  tenths  of  the  members  of 
Congress,  who  have  for  the  last  ten  years  blown  them- 
selves hoarse  making  speeches  to  their  outraged  and  jn- 
dignant  constituency.  Why,  Longbow's  name  will  be 
remembered  in  Puddleford  years  after  his  death  ;  and 
how  many  names  can  you  repeat  of  those  who  strutted 
through  the  last  Congress,  or  how  many  of  the  members 
for  your  own  district  for  the  last  thirty  years  ?  Fame, 
indeed  !  But  I  do  not  wish  to  quarrel  about  so  fleeting 
a  thing  as  fame,  and  I  will,  therefore,  dismiss  that  subject. 

The  politics  of  Puddleford  were  a  little  ridiculous  ;  but 
Turtle's  political  fun  was  used  by  him  as  a  means  to 
carry  out  an  end.  Turtle's  patriotism  and  Turtle's  prin- 
ciples were  beyond  suspicion.  Reader,  there  is  no  spot 
of  American  soil  more  truly  patriotic  than  Puddleford. 
There  are  no  great  depositories  —  no  central  heart  —  in 
this  country,  from  which  American  principles  flow ; 
every  man  is  a  centre,  a  law  unto  himself.  Ike  Turtle 
was  a  centre  ;  he  was  a  kind  of  political  wheel ;  ran 
on  his  own  axis ;  borrowed  no  propelling  power  from 
abroad,  but  kept  himself  whirling  with  the  spirit  of  '76, 
of  which  he  had  always  a  large  supply  on  hand.  He  re- 
minded me  of  a  fire-wheel,  used  on  celebration  days,  he 
cast  off  so  many  colored  lights  :  now  he  whizzed  ;  then 
he  banged ;  now  he  shot  forth  stars ;  then  spears  of 
flame  ;  but  he  was  still  a  wheel,  and  always  set  himself 
in  motion  to  some  purpose. 

What  shall  I  say  of  the   theology  of  Puddleford  ?     I 
have  already   alluded   to  it  in  the  pages  of  this  work 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  37  f 

Permit  me  to  say  more.  Creeds  travel  with  men  wher- 
ever they  go.  Creeds  often  colonize  the  wilderness ; 
they  have  nerved  more  hearts,  stirred  and  sustained  more 
souls,  scattered  more  civilization,  than  any  or  all  other 
agents.  But  Puddleford  was  riot  settled  by  any  particu- 
lar idea,  civil  or  religious  ;  yet  the  Puddlefordians  brought 
with  them  a  great  many  ideas,  both  civil  and  religious. 
They  were,  however,  incidental,  not  primary.  The  re- 
ligious exercises  of  the  country  were  like  its  people, 
ardent,  strong,  fiery,  and  often  tempestuous.  Bigelow 
Van  Slyck  was  an  embodiment  of  Puddleford  theology. 
lie  did  not  argue  doctrine,  for  two  reasons  :  he  did  not 
know  how,  and  he  would  not  if  he  could  ;  but,  to  use  his 
own  language,  "  he  took  sin  by  the  horns,  and  held  it  by 
main  force. " 

A  quiet  religion  with  a  Puddlefordian  was  synonymous 
with  no  religion.  Religion  with  him  was  something  to 
be  seen,  to  touch,  to  handle.  Puddleford  religion  was 
often  very  noisy,  and  it  manifested  itself  in  many  ways. 
We  used  to  have  an  outburst  at  camp-meeting,  which 
was  held  once  in  each  year  by  the  prevailing  sect  in  the 
country.  A  camp-meeting !  The  reader  has  attended  a 
camp-meeting,  I  know  ;  but  we  had  the  genuine  kind. 
Puddleford  was  depopulated  on  such  occasions  ;  and  its 
inhabitants,  supplied  with  the  necessaries  of  life  and  a 
tent,  went  forth  into  the  wilderness  to  give  a  high  tone 
to  their  piety.  They  wanted  air,  and  space,  and  time. 
All  this  was  characteristic,  and  was  like  the  people. 
What  would  they  have  done  inside  a  temple  of  spring- 
ing arches  and  fretted  dome — of  statues  looking  coldly 
down  from  their  niches  —  of  pictured  saints  —  where 
organ  anthems  rolled  and  trembled  ? 


378  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

What  to  the  Puddlefordians  were  the  refinements  of 
religious  exercises  ?  The  wild  wood  was  their  "  temple 
not  made  with  hands/'  columned,  and  curtained,  arid  fes- 
tooned, and  lit  up  by  the  sun  at  day,  and  the  stars  at 
night ;  and  here,  in  this  temple,  day  after  day,  the  people 
camped  ;  in  the  more  immediate  presence  of  the  Most 
High  built  their  watch-fires,  that  sent  up  long  streams  of 
smoke  over  the  green  canopy  that  sheltered  them,  aui 
knelt  down  to  pray. 

The  theology  of  Puddleford  was  brought  out  in  strong 
relief  at  these  meetings.  They  were  business  gatherings. 
The  trials  and  crosses  of  every  member  were  freely  can- 
vassed, and  consolation  administered.  The  "  inner  life  " 
of  each  individual  was  thoroughly  dissected —  the  spiritual 
condition  of  the  vineyard  in  general  carefully  examined  ; 
sermons  preached  strong  enough,  both  in  voice  and  ex- 
pression, to  raise  the  dead  ;  money  was  collected  for  be- 
nevolent purposes,  and  many  more  duties  performed, 
-which  I  cannot  stop  to  mention. 

The  reader  sees  that  these  men  and  women  were  lay- 
ing the  foundation  timbers  of  many  sects  that  must  follow 
them  —  follow  them  with  their  houses  of  worship,  their 
intelligence,  their  refinement,  and,  I  may  say,  their  theo- 
logical abstractions,  their  shadows,  and  shades,  and 
points  of  distinction.  Who  is  there  that  could  do  Bige- 
low's  work  better  than  he  ?  Who  is  there  that  will  ever 
toil  and  sweat  more  hours  in  his  Master's  vineyard  ?  And 
to  whom  will  the  posterity  of  Puddleford  be  more  in- 
debted ? 

But,  to  drop  the  leading  Characters  of  Puddleford,  let 
us  go  down  a  while  among  the  rank  and  file  ;  let  us  ex- 
amine their  condition.  And  here  I  may  get  into  trouble. 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  3?  9 

Comparisons  are  said  to  be  odious.  I  do  not  know  who 
said  it,  nor  do  I  care  ;  the  motive  which  one  has  in  view 
must  determine  the  truth  of  the  remark.  There  was  a 
vast  deal  of  happiness  in  Puddleford.  I  do  not  now  re- 
member one  nervous  woman  in  the  place.  Think  of  that. 
If  refinement  brings  its  joys,  it  often  covers  a  delicate, 
sensitive  nature  ;  but  there  was  nobody  delicate  or  sensi- 
tive at  Puddleford  ;  nobody  went  into  fits  because  a  rat 
crossed  the  floor,  or  a  spider  swung  itself  down  in  their 
way.  The  evening  air  was  never  too  damp,  nor  the 
morning  sun  too  oppressive.  Labor  made  the  people, 
hardy,  and  an  over-taxed  brain  hatched  no  bugbears.  I 
verily  believe  the  nightmare  was  never  known.  There 
were  no  persons  tired  of  time  —  not  that  they  had  so 
much  to  do  —  but  they  were  all  contented  with  time  and 
things  as  they  were.  Bftficroft  Library 

You  have  discovered  that  there  was  no  society  in  Pud- 
dleford ;  and  when  I  say  SOCIETY,  I  do  not  mean  that 
there  was  no  'social  intercourse,  but  society  organized 
and  governed  by  rules  and  regulations.  Here  was 
another  blessing.  Aunt  Sonora  never  got  into  hysterics 
because  Mrs.  Beagles  had  not  called  on  her  for  three 
weeks.  Aunt  Sonora  would  say,  that  "  Mrs.  Beagles 
might  stay  to  hum  as  long  as  she  was  a  min-ter."  Aunt 
Sonora  never  worked  herself  up  into  a  frustration  because 
her  gingerbread  didn't  rise  when  Squire  Longbow  took 
tea  with  her  ;  but  she  just  told  the  Squire,  "  he'd  got-ter 
go  it  heavy,  or  go  without/'  And  then  Aunt  Sonora 
was  under  no  obligation  to  make  fashionable  calls  ;  she 
was  not  a  fashionable  lady ;  there  was  no  fashion  to  call 
on.  She  did  not  go  around  and  throw  in  a  little  very 
cold  respect  into  her  neighbor's  parlor,  because  there 


380  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

were  no  parlors  in  Puddleford,  and  Aunt  Sonora  couldn't 
for  the  life  of  her  do  a  formal  thing  if  there  had  been. 
If  she  wanted  to  "  blow  out  agin'  any  one/7  to  use  her 
language,  why,  she  blew  out,  and  in  their  faces,  too, 
because  the  rules  of  her  society  had  not  taught  her 
hypocrisy. 

There  was  another  blessing.  Puddlefordians  were  not 
continually  tempted  to  covet  some  new  thing  of  their 
neighbors.  A  new  bonnet  now  and  then  raised  a  breeze  ; 
but  no  one  was  under  any  obligation  to  purchase  a  similar 
one.  In  other  words,  the  laws  of  society  did  not  dictate 
what  one  should  wear.  Aunt  Sonora  had  worn  her  old 
plaid  cloak  for  twenty  years,  and  3Tet  remained  in  society. 
Mrs.  Beagle's  "  Leghorn,"  which  looked  something  like 
a  corn-fan,  and  came  into  the  country  with  her,  was  or- 
thodox. Turtle  had  a  pair  of  breeches  old  enough  in  all 
conscience,  the  legs  cut  oif  above  the  knees,  and  turned, 
as  he  said,  "  hind  side  afore,  to  hide  the  holes  in  front,7' 
which  pettifogged  as  well  as  when  they  were  new. 
Squire  Longbow  wore  the  same  clouded-blue  stockings 
that  he  did  when  first  elected  magistrate ;  but  Mrs. 
Longbow  had  ravelled  them  up  several  times,  and  "  footed 
them  over."  I  dislike,  reader,  to  go  into  particulars,  and 
thus  expose  the  wardrobe  of  the  Puddlefordians,  but  I 
cannot  express  myself  clearly  on  so  important  a  point  in 
any  other  way  ;  and  I  promised  at  the  commencement  of 
this  sketch  to  make  it  philosophical. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  reader  will  look  on  the  bless- 
ings which  I  have  just  enumerated.  He  may  be  a  leader 
of  fashion  ;  the  shade  and  tie  of  his  neckcloth  may  be  as 
weighty  and  important  a  matter  with  him  as  his  reputa- 
tion. He  may  be  one  of  those  who  religiously  believe 


HUMORS   OF  THE    WEST.  381 

that  a  man,  at  a  party,  without  a  white  vest,  is  no  gen- 
tleman, and  ought  forthwith  to  be  kicked,  in  a  genteel 
way,  headlong  into  the  street.  He  may  think  it  vulgar  to 
laugh,  and  that  no  smile  but  a  fashionable  smile  should  be 

tolerated.     lie  may,  I  say  —  and  may  think  me  an . 

But  just  pause  a  moment.  I  am  only  writing  the  history 
of  Puddleford,  my  friend  ;  and,  besides,  just  sit  down 
coolly,  and  think  of  the  luxury  there  must  be  in  sojourning 
at  a  place  where  one  can  wear  his  old  clothes  year  in  and 
year  out,  preserve  public  respect,  and  cut  and  turn  his 
breeches  at  that ! 

The  household  furniture  of  the  Puddlefordians  was 
always  in  fashion  ;  in  fact,  there  was  a  remarkable  unifor- 
mity in  this  respect  in  all  the  cabins  in  the  settlement. 
The  white-wood  table,  wooden  chairs,  the  dozen  cups  and 
saucers,  the  cook-stove  arid  its  furniture,  bed  and  bedding, 
comprised  the  stock  of  nearly  every  family.  Turtle  often 
said  that  the  people  "  didn't  have  as  much  furniter  as  the 
law  allowed  'em,  and  the  state  had  got-ter  make  it  up." 
It  is  discovered  that  this  equality  was  productive  of 
beneficial  results.  It  was  not  possible  for  one  Puddleford- 
ian  to  envy  another  Puddlefordian.  There  was  no  fancy 
hundred-dollar  rocking-chair  exhibited  to  throw  any  one 
into  spasms  ;  there  were  no  pianos  bewitching  the  souls 
and  purses  of  the  community.  (Reader,  /have  no  spite 
against  pianos.)  Why,  in  short,  there  was  not  anything 
there  that  was  not  there  when  the  pioneers  first  planted 
themselves  on  the  soil.  I  recollect  that  Sile  Bates  owned 
a  pinchbeck  watch,  and  Squire  Longbow  was  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  "  bull's-eye,"  and  they  were  both  wonders. 
The  Squire  and  Sile  once  attempted  an  exchange  of  these 
articles,  and  the  transaction  was  so  momentous  that  all 


382      THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,  OR 

Puddleford  was  kept  in  excitement  for  three  weel.s.  The 
bargain  was  as  important  and  solemn  as  a  treaty  between 
two  high  contracting  powers.  There  was  one  point  in 
the  trade  that  was  positively  exciting.  Sile  had  offered 
five  dollars  to  boot,  payable  in  saw-logs  (no  person  paid 
money  at  Puddleford,  unless  by  special  agreement,  "  'fore 
witness  "),  and  here  the  parties  "  hung  fire  "  for  several 
days.  Turtle  said  the  Squire  "  orterto  strike  ;  "  Beagles 
said,  "  he'd  get  skin'd  if  he  did  ;  "  Bulliphant  said,  "  the 
pinchbeck  was  worn  out ;  "  Aunt  Sonora  said,  her  hus- 
band "  tell'd  her,  that  a  man  tell'd  him,  that  he  know'd 
Longbow's  bull's-eye  forty  years  afore,  and  it  could  scase 
tick  then ;  "  and  much  more  was  said  ;  but,  alas  !  the 
trade,  to  use  Ike's  language,  "  fizzled  out,"  and  Puddle- 
ford  settled  down  again  into  its  usual  tranquillity. 

The  philosophy  of  this  attempted  bargain  is  clear 
enough.  There  was  nothing  in  Puddieford  to  excite 
envy.  What  there  was,  was  old  ;  no  new  thing  was 
thrown  in  to  tantalize.  Longbow,  it  is  true,  once  ven- 
tured upon  a  carpet,  but,  as  he  was  a  magistrate,  the 
enterprise  was  deemed  very  proper.  Do  you  not  agree 
with  me,  that  Puddleford  had  its  blessings  ?  Does  not 
poverty  often  "  bring  healing  on  its  wings "  ?  How 
many  are  there  in  the  world  that  would  gladly  flee  from 
the  chains  of  society,  even  to  Puddleford,  willing  to 
fling  themselves  in  some  just  such  by-place  of  the  world, 
where  they  could  sit  down  perfectly  independent,  and 
take  "their  own  ease  in  their  own  inn?  "  How  many, 
reader  ? 

I  must  not  forget  the  charity  of  the  Puddlefordians. 
Charity  and  hospitality  are  distinguishing  characteristics 
of  western  people.  However  violent  feuds  might  rage, 


HUMORS   OF   THE    WEST.  383 

suffering  and  want  were  relieved,  so  far  as  there  was  an 
ability  to  do  it.  I  have  seen  another  kind  of  charity,  a 
fashionable  article,  used  according  to  the  laws  of  eti- 
quette, and  not  according-  to  the  laws  of  heartfelt  sym- 
pathy. I  do  not  know  that  any  person  was  ever  neg- 
lected in  Puddleford  because  he  or  she  did  not  belong 
to  a  particular  church.  Mrs.  A.  never  refused  to  assist 
Mrs.  B.  in  sickness,  because  she  and  Mrs.  B.  did  not  visit, 
or  because  she  did  not  know  Mrs.  B.  (That  word,  don't 
"  know,"  in  finished  society,  simply  means,  reader,  that 
the  person  holds  no  intercourse.)  But  everybody  did 
know  everybody  in  Puddleford  ;  and  when  one  of  the 
number  was  stricken  down  by  affliction,  the  remainder  all 
"turned  in,"  and  "put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel." 
Why,  bless  you,  reader,  you  ought  to  witness  an  erup- 
tion of  Puddleford  sympathy.  You  ought  to  see  Aunt 
Soriora,  with  her  apron  loaded  with  boneset,  sage,  and  a 
pail  filled  with  gruel,  hurrying  along  "  for  dear  life,"  to 
relieve  the  distressed  —  Mrs.  Swipes,  with  a  little  mus- 
tard, or  a  bit  of  "  jel  "  ;  Mrs.  Beagles,  Aunt  Graves,  and 
Sister  Abigail,  with  something  else.  Is  not  this  some- 
thing ? 

I  must,  however,  draw  my  "  Conclusion  "  to  a  close. 
Permit  me  to  do  it  gradually,  as  I  have  a  word  or  two 
more  to  say,  and  I  may  never  have  another  opportunity. 
The  reader  has,  by  this  time,  become  quite  intimate  with 
the  leading  characters  of  Puddleford,  and  says,  perhaps, 
"  A  queer  compound."  But  do  you  know,  reader,  that 
Longbow,  and  Turtle,  and  I  do  not  know  how  many  more, 
trace  their  blood  directly  back  to  the  Pilgrims  ?  It  is 
"  as  true  as  fate."  And  how  they  have  become  so 
metamorphosed  is  the  question.  Puddleford  stock  was, 


384  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS,    OR 

much  of  it,  Puritan  stock.  Those  old  stalwart  heroes, 
whose  hearts  were  a  living  coal ;  whose  wills,  granite  ; 
whose  home,  heaven  ;  who  "  walked  by  faith,  not  by 
sight ;  "  before  whose  eyes  .moved  "  the  cloud  by  day,  and 
the  pillar  of  fire  by  night ;  "  who  heard  voices  all  around 
them,  such  as  haunted  John  on  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  are 
the  progenitors  of  Longbow  and  Turtle.  What  a  country 
is  this  of  ours,  to  have  worked  such  results  ! 

But  I  learned,  upon  inquiry,  that  Longbow's  blood  had 
experienced  a  very  serious  pilgrimage  since  its  depar- 
ture from  its  New  England  head.  It  had  been  mixed 
with  Irish,  and  Scotch,  and  English,  and  German.  In 
reality,  the  Squire  was  a  kind  of  "compound"  of  all 
nations,  as  most  Americans  are.  If  it  were  possible  to 
introduce  Captain  Standish,  the  military  here  of  1620,  or 
Bradford,  or  Winslow,  to  Squire  Longbow,  they  would 
look  as  wildly  at  him  as  the  boys  did  at  poor  Rip  Van 
Winkle  after  his  long  sleep  on  the  mountain.  I  am  sure 
they  would  not  be  able  to  detect  any  resemblance  to  the 
Mayflower.  They  would  find  the  Squire  a  little  the 
worse  for  wear  —  ignorant  in  spiritual  matters  —  discover 
that  his  psalm-book  was  lost,  and  he  as  blind  a&  a  beetle 
in  the  New-England  catechism.  But,  after  all,  if  they 
probed  him  deep,  they  would  strike  much,  very  much,  of 
the  old  stuff,  living  arid  burning  yet. 

The  Squire's  Pilgrim  blood,  too,  had  filled  nearly  all 
occupations  in  life.  It  had  been  a  sailor  —  the  master  of 
a  vessel  —  a  merchant  —  fought  in  the  Revolution  —  a 
preacher  once,  and  once  a  lawyer.  These  facts  I  pro- 
cured from  the  Squire  for  my  special  use,  and  they  may 
be  relied  upon.  And  now  that  same  blood  was  doing 
service  at  Puddleford  as  a  magistrate.  Whether  blood 


HUMORS    OF  THE    WEST.  385 

changes  occupation,  or  occupation  blood,  is  a  physiologi- 
cal question  that  I  do  not  intend  to  debate.  But  that 
one  can  be  surprised  at  any  exhibition  of  American  char- 
acter, after  looking  into  the  crosses  and  counter-crosses 
of  blood,  is  marvellous. 

Ilere  is  a  sample  of  Puddleford  blood,  and  such  is 
the  blood  of  many  western  pioneers.  How  much  the 
world  is  indebted  to  the  pioneer  !  He  lays  the  founda- 
tion, let  build  who  may.  I  regret  the  necessity  of  per- 
petrating a  ridiculous  figure,  but  I  cannot  help  it :  he 
plants  deep  the  mud-sills  of  empire,  amid  toil,  arid  sweat, 
and  groans,  poverty  and  disease.  The  superstructure  is 
always  reared  by  other  hands.  The  columns  and  capi- 
tals are  the  product  of  wealth  and  taste.  How  few  of 
them  reap  the  harvest,  their  cabins,  now  standing  de- 
serted and  silent,  and  strewn  thousands  of  miles  over  the 
West  and  North-west,  abundantly  testify. 

The  pioneer  severs  all  connection  between  himself  and 
the  past  when  he  enters  upon  his  work.  I  have  already 
remarked  that  Puddleford  had  no  past.  He  breaks  all 
local  ties,  and  snaps  in  twain  the  golden  threads  that 
link  him  to  his  home.  The  caravan  that  winds  away 
from  the  old  hearth-stone,  where  the  first  kiss  was  im- 
printed, the  first  prayer  offered,  where  the  winter  cricket 
sang  as  the  tempest  roared  without,  and  devotes  itself  to 
a  wilderness,  leaves  behind  what  can  never  be  found 
again.  The  barefooted  striplings  who  gambol  with  it 
—  the  immortal  seed  to  be  sown,  and  to  sow  —  from 
whose  loins  giants  in  thought,  word,  and  action  will 
spring — "may  forgot,"  and  themselves  become  new 
centres  of  new  associations  —  but  men  and  women  never. 

What  constitutes  a  man  ?  —  a  nation  ?  Inhabitants 
25 


386  THE  PUDDLEFORD  PAPERS. 

only  ?  The  songs  of  a  people  stir  them  up  to  revolution 
—  and  what  are  they  but  the  glowing  language  of  the 
associations  of  the  soul?  What  is  Bannockburn  -to  a 
savage  ?  A  plain,  over  which  the  winds  blow  and  the 
thistles  gather.  What  to  a  Scotchman  ?  A  living,  breath- 
ing-host! What  to  the  pioneer  is  the  memory  of  that 
church  steeple  that  flung  its  long  shadow  over  his 
boyhood,  around  whose  vane  the  swallows  whirled,  and 
the  evening  sun  lingered  ?  —  that  bell  that  swung  high 
therein  ?  —  the  torrent  that  roared  through  his  early 
years,  and  wove  its  music  into  his  very  being  ?  —  the  lone 
clilF,  where  the  cloud  slept  and  the  eagle  rested  ?  These 
all  are  a  part  of  the  man  himself;  and  when  he  is  torn 
from  them,  his  very  nature  receives  a  shock,  and  he  has 
lost,  he  hardly  knows  how  or  where,  a  portion  of  his 
very  existence. 

Reader,  you  and  I  must  part.  How  I  ever  happened 
to  write  the  history  of  Puddleford  is  more  than  I  can  say. 
I  have  more  than  once  been  frightened  at  my  impudence. 
In  all  probability  you  will  never  hear  of  me  again  in 
print  —  and,  before  we  separate,  reach  me  your  hand  — 
(if  it  is  a  lady's,  it  is  all  the  better)  —  "  Good  by  to  you, 
my  friend  ;  "  and  if  you  should  stray  into  Puddleford,  I 
will  set  apart  an  hour,  and  give  you  an  introduction  to 
Squire  Longbow  —  an  honor  to  which,  I  am  very  sure, 
you  cannot  be  insensible  or  indifferent. 


